Non Sequitur
by It's Just That
Summary: Slashy one-shots of your favourite pairing. You get to choose what you want to read next! The first chapter is my choice, TRHP. Rating will vary upon each chapter/request. SLASH!MM Don't read if you don't like :D
1. The Dorm

Story Title: **Non Sequitur**

Summary: Harry Potter one-shot series. Send in your requests if you have any. ;]

Warnings: Slash, AU, anything's possible, really.

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Chapter Warnings: Slash, AU, orphaned, SMART Harry, horror, there was no BWL or anything in this universe, but there is magic.

Chapter Summary: Harry James Potter, orphan at one, is adopted by Bellatrix Lestrange. Privately tutored and naturally adept at anything, Bellatrix doesn't allow him to go to Hogwarts until the age of sixteen. Once there, he has trouble making friends because of his naturally callous attitude...except for this boy named Tom.

Chapter Pairing: TRHP

**A/N: I'm sorry I never bothered to complete my other stories, so I just thought of a different way of making it up to you guys by writing long-winded one-shots. I hope you guys enjoy. :D**

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**The Dorm**

* * *

Harry looked at the non-moving photo in his hands. It was the first photo he took with his mother and father. They were arranged in an austere, sepia shot, with a painting of the Lestrange manor behind them. His mother was wearing one of her normal evening gowns, her silken gloves fitted snugly up to her elbows. The only jewellery she had donned was the Black family necklace and the simple but elegant wedding band on her ring finger. Her long and shining black hair was down and waved softly around her face in a black veil, her heavy-lidded eyes dark and foreboding.

She stood poised and stiff next to his father, Rodolphus, who had his lips twitched into a large and crooked grin. He stood a head taller than Bellatrix, his body long and lithe. His hair, which showed black curls in the photo, fell forward to shield his chiselled face. His father's hair was actually a light chestnut brown, nearly a shade of blond. Rodolphus's eyebrows were sharp and angled and his cheekbones hallowed, giving him a classically timeless look. Laughing eyes (which Hadrian knew to be a sea green) stared straight at him.

Harry's eyes glanced down the photo, to the little boy who sat primly on a chair in the middle of his parents. That _was_ him—Harry James Potter. The short, messy haired and narrow-eyed boy with impeccable black dress robes. But he wasn't the orphan, Harry James Potter that was left to rot in an alleyway anymore. He was Hadrian Charles Lestrange, sole heir to the considerably large Lestrange fortune.

He had been abandoned at one, near Knockturn Alley, when a powerful witch, Bellatrix Lestrange, had picked him up and nursed him back to health. She had always wanted to care for a child but was unable to due to complications from the sheer amount of Dark Magic she wielded. This was her chance to nurture a child with limitless potential and she wasn't about to pass it up.

Now don't misinterpret her actions for charity or kindness—it was anything but. His mother had told him, when he had learned to speak and comprehend properly, that she had only taken him because she had sensed his power and propensity for both light and dark magic. However, in spite of what she told him, Harry couldn't help but love her all the same. Though strict and unaffectionate, Bellatrix Lestrange was still a good mother.

His father, on the other hand, was one of the only people Harry looked up to. Charming, witty and waist-deep into wizarding politics, Rodolphus Lestrange was a prime example of Pureblood ancestry. He was close friends with the leading Potions Expert of modern times, Severus Snape, the prestigious Lord Lucius Malfoy and the beautiful Lady Zabini.

Harry was adopted into the family at one, blood adopted by five and proclaimed-genius by six. He absorbed books and information at an accelerated pace, leaving all his other peers at the Taffling and Roger's Grade school behind. He was put at the top of his class and considered a prodigy by most of his teachers and professors. He had graduated at nine with top honours and was given a choice to take advanced studies at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry or to Durmstrang, where his Grandfather Lestrange had gone to. He had declined the advancement and instead chose to go abroad to study the diverse magical cultures in Africa, New Zealand, as well as Asia.

He spoke fluent French, German, Chinese and several other dialects and had perfect 20/20 vision.

"Hadrian!" He heard his mother called from the foyer downstairs.

Carefully slipping the photo into his shirt's front pocket, Harry discreetly patted it to make sure it was okay. He slipped on his brown leather boots and trudged through the winding hallways and dark corridors to reach his mother. The light from the windows reflected, bouncing off the marble floors, giving her a resplendent and elegant look. Bellatrix was dressed in her formal muggle wear: a white buttoned shirt, black slacks and a white fedora over her stylishly curled hair.

Painted dark blue eyes surveyed Harry critically before Bellatrix gave a satisfied nod in his direction and pulled him into a short, but heartfelt embrace.

"You had just gotten back from your trip, Harry. I loathe seeing you going so soon," she said quietly.

"I know, mum," Harry replied, face buried into his mother's sweet-smelling hair. "But I have to finish my education. I'll be out of that dormitory by summer's end and then only one last school year to attend to."

Bellatrix sighed then, drawing away to look deep into his eyes, before hugging him again.

Harry faintly wondered if that was her way of saying she'd miss him. He understood how hard it was for his mother to let him leave again. It was even more difficult the first time around when he had announced that he was travelling the world at ten, but she recognised how important it was to him and let him go. It was the same thing now too.

He tightened his arms around her and then, only realised that he had somehow grown taller than her. She was up to his chest only, and she was a tall woman herself. From the years he had been away, and to the last two months he had been with her, Harry never once comprehended how thin and birdlike Bellatrix had become.

Harry worried.

After another long moment in her embrace, Bellatrix gently pushed him away, ushering Harry outside and into a shiny white sports car. Rather gaudy and doubtlessly showy—that was Rodolphus for you. He purchased the car merely on a whim in case they would ever need to go about in the "muggle" way.

"Beanstalk," grinned the older wizard, flashing a set of pearly white teeth. "Said your goodbyes to your mom, eh? What about me, kiddo?" He reached out to muss Harry's hair, amusement glinting in his sea green eyes as his son grumbled and tried to fix his appearance.

"Right, right. How ever could I forget-? Goodbye, father," Harry made a face at him.

Rodolphus only chuckled at his response, snapped his heavily ringed fingers (he had one as Head of the Lestrange family, and another few for minor titles as well as Heir ring to the Liu dynasty (yes a close Chinese branch of the family), and Harry's long black hair was back to its perfect style once more.

It took a few minutes of making sure that he had gotten all of his things, before Harry awkwardly (his legs were too long) climbed into the back seat, alongside his snake familiar, Basil. He glanced at his father, who was behind the wheel since he had (on another whim) learned how to drive and elevated his eyebrows at the positively gleeful look on his dad's face.

Should he be worried over his father's seemingly non-existent driving skills?

His mother slid next to Rodolphus and craned her head to look at him.

Nah.

"Everything's packed, Hadrian?"

"Yes, mum," he said and surreptitiously patted his trouser's pocket.

"Books, _magazines_, journals and whatnot there?" further asked his father, and from what Harry could see through the backview mirror, raised a brow at him at the mention of _magazines_. Pfft. More like porn.

Harry bit back a smirk and shook his head.

"Not going to happen anytime soon, dad."

"Rats!" Rodolphus nearly pouted. "You have foiled my plans into making you a perfectly natural teenage boy and not the mature, young adult you really are. You make it extremely difficult to turn you into a regular teen, Harry," the wizard complained, already starting the car and driving passed the countryside.

His mother just rolled her eyes and mouthed, "Senile old man," to him, and Harry couldn't help but laugh.

* * *

Harry was seated in one of the last compartments of Hogwarts Express, alone and without any company. His parents had seen him off: his father forgoing Pureblood manners and nearly suffocating him in a tearful hug, and his mother placing a gentle kiss on his cheek. They had waved goodbye to him as the train's engine had already begun to hum, then walked out of the barrier of Hogwarts 9 and ¾. It would be the last time Harry would see them until Yule.

'_Basil,' _he hissed at the small, obsidian scaled snake in the cage besides him. It opened a lazy red eye, yawned and slid out of its home, twining itself around Harry's outstretched arm.

'_Master,' _it said happily, hissing out its happiness at seeing him relatively safe and unharmed. '_How are you?' _

'_Fine,' _Harry answered. _'Just a bit lonely.' _

He frowned a second later, seeing how people continuously passed his compartment but never ventured in. Not that I want to get to know them, he reminded himself. He just...was curious of how others interacted. He had studied the natives in Africa and how they would seemingly communicate with just body language, had studiously researched the tribal practises the New Zealanders had to go through to get to manhood, and been a part of the oriental traditions that was still alive today in Chinese regions. Hell, he even talked to people twice, no—_THRICE_ his age.

But not once had Harry ever interacted with people around his own age.

They were admittedly mystifying.

They talked too much, complained about the most inconsequential things, and they acted immaturely and gave no thought to what consequences their actions might bring in the future.

In other words, Harry did not like them at all.

Or maybe he was just socially inept.

For a moment, Harry felt unconfident and insecure of his abilities and how others perceived him. Would he be too tall? Smart? Unfriendly-?

As if reading his mind, Basil's tongue flicked out to touch Harry's face. _'Master, you are not socially incompetent. Most peoples do not bother seeing past your facade of ice, so they do not know how wonderful you really are. I, for one, know you are a nice person, if a little...dark,' _the small snake said, rubbing its head soothingly onto Harry's cheekbone. _'It is just your family's influence. After all, the Lestrange and Black family are known for their prowess in Dark magics.'_

Harry smiled down at his hissing familiar, _'I guess you're right. Thanks Basil.' _

'_You are most welcomes, Master.'_

Basil slid back under Harry's robe with a contented hiss.

Harry was vaguely envious of how easily his familiar could be satisfied, before turning away and looking out into the English countryside. He had brought all his books in case he needed them for reference, but he soon found (out of boredom) that they were a good source of entertainment. So he ended up reading his 'Guide to the Amazon' by Pan Kirkley.

He was left undisturbed for the rest of the train ride.

* * *

"Zyskowsky, Solerio!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

There was a polite round of applause.

The illustrious Headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore, smiled benevolently at all of them, subsequently turning twinkling eyes to where he knew Harry was standing. The old, wizened man then abruptly stood up, and suddenly the Great Hall was quiet, only punctuated by the occasional curious murmur. He tapped his throat once with his wand, then smiled once more at his students.

Dumbledore's wise voice spoke out, "You all may be curious as to why we have not put the Sorting Hat away, but we have one yet to be sorted. Due to his rather unique circumstances and prodigious status, he has already graduated and is well beyond his schoolmates in terms of courses and grades. He has merely chosen to complete his education for the sake of his degree. He will not be taking any courses with anyone, but rather, observe and study you all as you are.

With this said, please welcome, Lestrange, Hadrian!"

Instead of the usual clapping, there were shocked voices and seemingly stunned students.

"_...Did he say 'Lestrange'? One of the most powerful wizarding families in Europe?"_

"_Hadrian? I didn't even know the Lestranges had a son!"_

"_I heard he's a prodigy of some sorts and travelled the world..."_

"_Really? I heard he was a sorcerer in training!"_

Amidst the excited chatter, Harry frowned and pushed his way passed the shadows and into the walkway between the tables. He tensed as curious eyes greeted his form.

Great.

Just great.

Harry then sat stiffly in the heart of the Great Hall, atop an old three-legged stool. He was waiting for the dreaded School Hat to be placed on his head, while numerous glances and whispers were thrown his way.

He'd take the Tribesmen of Africa and Oriental Tradionalists over this, any day.

Quite suddenly, Harry was made aware of how different he looked from the other students. For one, he hadn't known that he was supposed to change into his school robes prior to reaching Hogwarts. Two, his clothes were made by his mother (she happened to like to tailor and embroider), so he stood out, simply by its style and cut. Lastly, Harry was easily one of the tallest boys in Hogwarts, standing at a shocking 6'5". How he grew that tall was beyond him.

Maybe it was the Blood Magic he practised while in Africa..?

He shook himself from his thoughts as soon as the old, fraying Sorting Hat was placed onto his head.

'**Hmm, hmm! What a queer, queer mind you have there! Most interesting**_!' _a voice said in his head. Harry's eyebrows angled downwards to show his agitation at having something prodding about in his mind. '**Haven't met an individual like you since Riddle's time, that's for certain!**_**'**_

'**Riddle?**' Harry asked, then grit his teeth, feeling as though someone were rifling through the drawers he had set up in the room that served as his Occlumency shield.

'**Yes, Riddle. He was a very bright boy, you know. Sort of like you, but smarter, more ruthless and ambitious. You may lack his drive but you make up for it by your natural curiosity and limitless potential. You are as cunning and as sly as he once was too. I guess you better be-**'

"SLYTHERIN!"

From what Harry could hear, not one student clapped.

The hat was instantly taken off his head, and the stern professor McGonagall (that could give his mother a run for her money), directed him to a table that was nearest to the corridor.

Curious stares followed him as he sat on the edge of the table, next to a tall, dark-skinned boy with slanted eyes and high cheekbones.

Gold eyes swept loftily over Harry, from the highest hair on his head, to the tip of his boots. An eyebrow arched elegantly, as the dark-skinned boy extended a hand, seemingly satisfied with his perusal.

"Blaise Zabini," the dark-skinned boy murmured disinterestedly, exotic eyes meeting Harry's green ones.

"Hadrian Lestrange," he replied with a somber look and shook Blaise's hand. The boy merely sent him an arrogant smile as he turned back to his friends; a pointy-face blond haired boy (who looked a lot like Uncle Lucius) and a pug-faced witch with an easygoing smile.

From the corner of his eyes, Harry could see another person in front of him. The boy was deathly pale, and was exceedingly tall (even taller than Harry himself). He wore one of the older-styled uniforms, something Harry knew he'd be seeing back in the late 1930's. They were out of style now, but seemed to fit the boy well.

A blazing, fiery, _deepbloodyrubyred_ unexpectedly burned into Harry's retinas as he tried hard not to stare at the boy in front of him. Harry could swear that the eyes of the mysterious boy were positively glowing—_glowing, GLOWING—_with an unnatural but fervent light. A delicately pointed chin was placed in large but elegantly tapered hands and Harry could swear he was being observed with a vicious ferocity by the stranger.

But as soon as Harry had turned to directly look at the boy, did the stranger disappear, leaving the seat empty and bare in front of him.

'_Master?' _spoke Basil near his ear, sensing Harry's distress. He unconsciously patted his familiar's head with a finger and the snake soon settled back around his neck. Basil's soothing presence alleviated Harry of the surge of adrenaline that shot through him.

With a muted sigh, apprehension dawned on Harry.

He had just seen one of the older, quite possibly, 7th year Slytherins.

Which meant that he was going to have to wade through all of this observation crap and sift through a galleon's worth of bullshit before the year was through. He shouldn't have expected anything less except to be thrown out to a sea chock full of sharks.

With a grim smile and a plan etched firmly in his mind to avoid every being (living or otherwise), Harry grabbed an apple from the fruit basket and proceeded to eat it. He was resolved to go through with his plan after today.

* * *

A few weeks into the school year, found the Slytherin Trio sitting in front of the Lake, eating their lunches in relative silence. It was a cold afternoon, with the wind whipping through the air and their breaths fogging as they quietly spoke to one another. The leaves were already changing to pretty oranges and yellows.

It was serene and peaceful until one pug-face girl broke it by curiously asking,

"Draco, did you meet the new kid yet?"

"Once, yes," said Draco Malfoy slowly, chewing on a piece of his plain bread roll. "And I do believe he's a cousin of mine or something." His silvery-blond head was resting comfortably on Pansy's lap as he ate. "From what I hear, he's quite the bookworm though, and he's not scared of _Riddle's _horror story at all."

"Draco! Don't say that name!" Pansy chided as Draco rolled his eyes. "And is that all you know-?" she asked testily.

"Yeah," said Draco, swallowing the last of his food. "But let's try asking Blaise if he knows anything else."

He sat up to give an inquisitive look to his other friend, who sat a little further away from both he and Pansy. Seeing as though he was ignored, Draco tried a different approach: he cupped his tapered hands together around his mouth and called out,

"Oy, Blaise! What do you make of Lestrange?"

This caused the dark-skinned boy to blink and don a pensive expression.

"Hadrian Lestrange? Well, he's nice," was all Blaise said.

Pansy's nose scrunched up.

"That's not much of a description, is it?" she questioned.

Blaise shrugged. "We only exchanged names with each other after the Welcoming Feast, and talked to each other that first night of horror tales. He's been like a wraith since then—not a single person has seen him barring meal time; so really, I've nothing important to tell you. But you," he directed his eerie yellow gaze to the Malfoy heir, "Draco, on the other hand, are his cousin. Why are you asking me all these questions? Shouldn't you know him yourself?"

Draco flushed pink. "I haven't been in touch with Auntie Bella for a long time," the blond admitted, thoughtfully eyeing his two friends for any negative reactions. There was none. He continued on, "Father and Mother always keep in touch with Uncle Rodolphus and Auntie Bella though. He says they were doing fine, but never mentioned I had a younger cousin. To be honest, it shocked me. I knew of a Hadrian, but not a Hadrian Lestrange. They never mentioned his surname in the papers...though Father usually tells me things," said Draco, worryingly biting his lip.

Pansy patted his leg.

"It's okay, Drakey," she said soothingly. "He probably didn't think he needed to mention you had a cousin. I mean, if it was important or life-changing, yes, but you've lived without Hadrian your whole life, you don't need him now."

"I guess," Draco dubiously bit out, his grey-blue eyes holding a sliver of longing. "But it would have been nice to be close to someone before Hogwarts. I mean the choice between eleven years of keeping mostly to myself, or attending a prestigious Wizarding Grade School where there were more cons than pros? No thank you. Evil private tutors hired by my father were eleven years enough for me," said Draco huffily. Pansy nodded understandingly—most Purebloods went through the same thing after all.

"I suppose that makes sense though, once you think about it," Blaise hummed, running a hand through his short, ebony hair. "Hadrian probably went to Taffling and Roger's elite Grade school. He was possibly already well-known if he was a prodigy. Maybe your father just assumed you knew of him."

The only girl in their group snorted. "That doesn't make sense at all," she argued. "That only makes it more confusing. Does that mean they weren't ever going to introduce Hadrian to Draco? Or that they were trying to keep Hadrian low-key and away from everyone else? Or maybe it was your Aunt Bellatrix's doing?"

"Perhaps," Draco mused aloud. "Or perhaps they just thought it more efficient to keep his name and description under wraps. After all, he is a prodigy and is known today as one of the 'youngest brightest wizards of all time', as quoted by The Daily Prophet. He seems the type of person to forgo the paparazzi and keep his privacy. And from what I heard from Mum, Hadrian left Britain years ago to further his knowledge and prove his thesis on how living in different areas of the world, affects wizarding culture and magic. Least to say, cousin Hadrian proved his thesis and was awarded The Order of Merlin, Third Class."

"Wow," said Pansy flabbergasted at how much Hadrian Lestrange accomplished. To think they were all the same age!

"A lot to be proud of, right? I wonder why he isn't so full of himself like that git Lockhart? With someone as smart and as famous as Hadrian, who _wouldn't _be self-absorbed?" asked Draco to no one in particular.

This statement silenced them as they struggled to understand the enigma named Hadrian Lestrange.

* * *

A month of being in the same dorm as the few other Slytherin boys, and Harry had to say, it wasn't as bad as he thought it'd be. On the first night, he had excused himself from the feast early, seeing as though he had no one to catch up to or make small talk with. He had been approached and directed by none other than the dour Head of House, Severus Snape, to sleep at the bed furthest from the door and two beds away from anyone else.

Harry was fine with that.

He had spelled the plain white bedding and curtains to a dark, velvety blue, like the ones he had in his bedroom. He then transfigured it into spidersilk and sighed as he fingered the delicate fabric.

It was just like home now.

Harry had never bothered to unshrink his trunk until now, so he did so and proceeded to place his clothes into the given drawers next to his bed. He found a strange mark inside one of the drawers though covered it with layers of his favourite socks. Once finished, Harry placed the snoozing Basil in the middle of his bed, grabbed his toiletries and stole his way into the large washroom.

It was rather spacious, with a pleasantly heated pool located in the middle of the chambers. There were shower stalls to the left of the room and toilets in an adjacent area further back. It was like living in one of those muggle fantasy rooms.

"Can't beat the Japanese though," he muttered and sank into the water with a deep groan.

And that was how his first part of his night went. Calm and uneventful.

The second part began as Harry stepped back into the dormitory, with a towel strapped onto his waist and another one around his shoulders. He hadn't expected to see the rest of his dorm mates, huddling around the pointy-faced blond's bed. They seemed deep in conversation.

As soon as Harry was dressed in plain beige pyjama pants, Blaise caught his eye and minutely gestured to Harry to get to his side. Harry didn't bother with a shirt after that.

"—and they say that he wanders around the school as a malevolent spirit who..."

The boys had immediately quieted, seeing the newcomer. Doubtful gazes rested on him as the unofficial leader of the group, the pointy-faced blond, scrutinised him with wary silver-blue eyes. It took several moments until the blond was seemingly satisfied with whatever he was looking for in Harry, and stuck a fine-boned hand out to him, similar to what Blaise had done earlier.

"Draco Malfoy (so he _was _a Malfoy!), a pleasure I'm sure," the blond said with an elegant flourish after Harry had shook his hand. "These two on my right are Crabbe and Goyle—" he pointed a long finger to the two hulking figures beside him, "And this is Theodore Nott." Draco directed a delicate thumb to the tall, lanky, brown haired boy to his left. He wasn't as tall as Harry, but he nearly was, putting him in the same category as Harry (which was unfortunately the 'too tall to be normal' category).

"Hadrian Lestrange," he spoke out, nodding his greetings to everyone. They nodded back before turning inquisitive eyes to Draco.

"As I was saying," Draco coughed purposely, his pretty face contorting into a vaguely irritated expression. "The ghost story—"

"Wait, you guys were speaking of horror stories?" interrupted Harry, a little bemused.

"Yes," answered Theodore lowly. "We may be wizards with magic, but the paranormal and supernatural; the_ abnormal_—any such things like otherworldly beings fascinate us. Why do you think our world has an obsession with magical beings such as the fey, elves and dwarfs? And oppositely, the ghouls, inferi and dementors? Because they are something abnormal to our standard of normal. Now incorporate the dead wizards and witches, who have been alive at some point but died terribly gruesome deaths—and what do you suppose we have?"

"Evil spirits of the past that know no rest," said Draco, solemnly eyeing everyone's shocked faces. "They still retain their magic from when they were alive, but they are unable to do anything to escape their situation. They cannot be seen except by a few, special individuals and are mostly, if not completely, insane."

"...But what kind of ghosts do you speak of?" asked Harry softly.

"Ahh," Draco shot him a smug smirk, "A fine question you asked, cousin! And I'm not talking about your run-of-the-mill apparition like the Grey Lady or Bloody Baron! I'm talking about the malevolent ghosts like...Riddle."

The lights seem to flicker and everyone around shuddered except Harry.

"Riddle-?"

The person nearest to him (which also happened to be Draco) quickly slapped a hand over his mouth.

"Shh!" the blond said frantically. "Don't say his name! They say if you say his name three times, he's going to get you! It's bad enough that you have to sleep in his bed for the rest of your stay at Hogwarts! It's even worse that you chose his bed! Now he will definitely haunt you!"

"Mffwat phwooo mrrrff mfft?" questioned Harry, purposely spraying spit onto Draco's hand.

The Malfoy heir immediately retracted his hand back with a look of disgust painted on his face. He wiped his palm onto a silk handkerchief and said, "Exactly what I meant. Why did you choose that bed anyway? There was the one next to Theodore there." He waved towards the bare bed to the right of a blood-red one.

Harry frowned. "Because Professor Snape said I had to sleep in it."

Draco sniffed. "He says that to every Slytherin, and he never expects anyone to listen him. You're actually the first one to do it."

"I'm ever so glad," said Harry sarcastically as Crabbe and Goyle tried in vain to stifle their laughs. "Perhaps he'll take a liking to me because of it?"

"Shush, you guys," spoke out Blaise seriously. He turned his golden-eyed stare to Harry. "Snape's not as bad as you think, Hadrian. He's just...snarky. However, going back to whatever Draco was saying—you needn't worry about _him_. I highly doubt there's any truth to the rumours."

Draco shook his head. "Ahh, one of the non-believers," the blond said forlornly.

"But you know Ginny Weasley, right?" piped up Goyle, for the first time. This seemed to surprise everyone. "They say she said _his _name thrice when we were Second Years, and she was missing the next day and proclaimed dead the next week! They found her body in the second floor girl's bathroom. You know, the abandoned one," said Goyle.

"They say _he_ was angry that a bloodtraitor had dared utter his name," muttered Crabbe darkly, reminding everyone that this was no ordinary spirit. The boys exchanged discomforting looks and Harry vaguely felt left out.

"But how did Ri—uhh, I mean _he _come to be? What happened to him?" said Harry, leaning forwards as Draco began his tale.

"Well it went like this..."

* * *

There was once this wizard named—well you should know his name, because I shan't say it aloud. Anyway, he attended school from 1938 to his time of death at 1944. They say he was one of the most powerful wizards of all time, compared to Merlin even. He had created numerous transfiguration spells, charms, and the ever useful stasis spells and even improved the current Potions Recipes. He was one of the youngest wizards ever to receive Good Merits on Account of Wizarding Justice, and the Order of Merlin Second Class, for his contributions to society. He was considered the next Minister-to-be once he graduated.

What the wizarding world didn't know was that _he _was a vile and twisted man. He revelled in dark sorcery (which is different from the dark arts because it uses human sacrifice and blood magic for it to achieve the ultimate success rate). His long string of murders had actually begun in inconspicuous places. Like the shady Hog's Head, and moving to deserted alleyways in London. _He _didn't need to kill just wizards and witches, because a dormant string of magic is also found in muggle's bood. So his reign of terror stretched from the wizarding world over to the muggle world.

The muggles called him 'The Bloodletter' serial killer, because he'd slit his victim's major arteries and drain them dry of blood, only leaving an empty husk.

Anyway, he was just our age now—sixteen. Funny how the crazies always start early. Ahem, moving along...

He had already killed numerous people—about thirty so far. The first few kills were just to perfect his technique—the last twenty one people were needed for a blood rite—the '_Semper est Ibi'_. The immortality ritual held only the night before Halloween.

He had actually brought the 21 wizards, witches and muggles down to a secret chamber in Hogwarts and slaughtered them. They say they could hear his voice, laughing cold and callously as his victims were slowly—ever so slowly—drained of their lifeforce.

But do you know what happened after he completed the rite-?

Yes, that's right, Theodore. His soul. Stained with the murder of 30 people—was split from his body. The ritual shred his entire soul and left it to wander at Hogwarts. Why did the ritual fail, you think? Well it didn't. The ritual _did _grant him immortality—his body and soul would stay forever young, but did the rite ever say that he would stay in the living world for it? No it didn't. In fact, the reason why the _'Semper est Ibi' _was one of the oldest, most dangerous rites in the magical community, was because while it gave you immortality, it would take something equally back from you. And if you didn't pay enough—well, let's just say you didn't make it out alive to tell anyone else you performed the ritual.

In any case, they say his true spirit still restlessly roams Hogwarts, desperate for someone to help him return back to his body. Others say that he doesn't really exist and others like Blaise—well, they deny his very existence.

But how do we know of this story, Hadrian? Well it's easy to say that we heard this story from the Bloody Baron himself, and he doesn't talk much, since he also fears..._him_. On the day of _his _death, trophies, belongings and other things were burned inside the Forbidden Forest. Unfortunately for the Hogwarts staff, his belongings simply would not perish, so they set it aside somewhere in the castle, where no one could grab a hold of them.

The Baron had told us of _his _journals. How they were so full of magic—magic that could change the world.

It was a pity, yes, a pity, the Baron had told us on our first night in Hogwarts that _he _had to die.

He had such potential to move the world too.

* * *

Draco finished his tale and Hadrian was left a jumble of twitchy nerves. He rubbed his hands together to create some warmth and glanced to his left, where Theodore was. The lanky teen looked somewhat frightened and anxious, if the nervous tick in his blue eyes was anything to go by.

Harry mustered up some courage to say a single word, "Intriguing."

"W-w-what-?" cried out Draco, somewhat outraged. "His tale isn't just _intriguing_! It's clearly horrifying and true!"

Harry eyed the fuming blond and shrugged. "Believe whatever you want to believe—the tale is intriguing to me. But I don't really believe in those 'haunting' things unless they happen to me myself. I'd like to see some solid proof before changing my whole opinion. The Riddle story was nice though. A little eerie, but nice enough to be told on a dead winter's night. I'm going to hit the hay now, all right guys?"

That left the others to gape, slack-jawed at him as he stood up and made his way to his bed. _Riddle's _old bed.

He cleared that thought away and saluted to the other boys.

"Good night," Harry said politely and closed his curtains.

Least to say he slept like a log that night, but had dreamt of red eyes and a handsome but freakishly tall boy chasing after him in the dungeons.

And that was how his first night, and seemingly other nights went.

* * *

The first time he met Tom was two weeks before Halloween. He was seated in a shadowed corner of the Library, intent on reading a tome on magical creatures of the sea. He saw no reason to revel in the spirit of Halloween, so he spent his time nearly every day in the Library, away from people.

Yes, in other words, Harry was just avoiding everyone again.

He had successfully avoided the nosy Slytherin Trio, with his cousin Draco Malfoy as the lead. He even evaded the all-knowing mudblood, Granger and her annoying boyfriend Weasley. He hadn't succeeded in avoiding Dumbledore though, but he was working on that.

'_Master! What about this creature?' _hissed Basil, his white head nudging a unicorn-like sea monster. Its coat was a seaweed black colour and not the usual sparkling white. Its mane was dripping with water and it had no hooves—just a floating back body.

'_It's called a Kelpie, Basil,' _Harry informed the snake, watching as his familiar slithered up and down the book, seemingly fascinated with the kelpie. _'It lures children into the water to drown them and then later, eat them.'_

'_How barbaric!' _If Basil had a nose, he would probably be scrunching it up by now.

Harry chuckled, '_Yes, I suppose it is. But isn't it the same when swallowing your prey whole?' _

Basil sputtered, '_But at least I don't _drown _children to eat them! Children are sacred to us!'_

His familiar was talking about his own magical species, where snakelings weren't born often; so when one _was _born—well, they were spoiled and coddled silly. Harry just rolled his eyes.

'_Interesting familiar you've got there,_' drawled an unknown voice beside him.

Harry jolted from his seat, though later gained his composure as he saw that the person next to him was none other than the strange boy he had seen at the Welcoming Feast.

His eyes narrowed.

'_You speak the tongue?_' Harry questioned, suspicion laced in his tone. As far as Harry knew, he was the only one who spoke Parseltongue. It would be nice if there was another like him, though...

'_Yes,' _the boy flashed him a pearly white smile that set Harry on edge. _'My name is Tom. And yours?' _Tom asked politely.

'_Hadrian Lestrange,_' he replied warily. He pointed to Basil who still was glaring at the Kelpie picture, '_And that is Basil.'_

"Short for Basilisk?" Tom said amusedly, switching to English.

"Yes, but he clearly isn't one. His mother named him, he says, for his eyes were as beautiful as a Basilisk's," explained Harry. "I daren't call him by his full name though, because it only gives him a bit of an ego, you see." He pointed to Basil's multicoloured eyes and smiled as Tom leaned back in his chair and nodded.

"I see."

It was quiet, then Basil poked his head up and stared at Tom.

'_Is there another snakespeaker, Master? Who is he?' _

Harry hissed, _'His name is Tom. Say hi to Tom.'_

Basil seemingly blinked. _'But I cannot see him. I can only hear him. Is there something wrong with him?'_

Harry looked back to Tom, whose body had stiffened, and shrugged. '_I don't know. Why don't you ask him?_'

Basil shook his head vehemently. _'No thank you! I'll just go and sleep now_.' His snake familiar slithered to his hand, then up his arm and finally settled on Harry's neck. He coiled his long white tail around Harry's collarbone, which caused Harry's eyebrows to elevate. Basil had only ever done this when he was nervous or scared.

"I wonder what's gotten him so frightened?" said Harry out loud, cocking his head at Tom's snort.

"Maybe he's just afraid of me," said Tom, his handsome face forlorn, and just a little bit angry. The elegant curve of his jaw was set and the way his jade eyes narrowed made Harry pity the boy a little.

"I don't see what he has to be so afraid of," spoke Harry calmly, placing a comforting hand over Tom's freezing one. "You seem perfectly normal to me."

The other Slytherin tensed, then shot a strained smile at him.

"Thank you, no one has ever said that to me," said Tom truthfully, looking a little uncomfortable at Harry's touch.

Harry's lips twitched and he lifted his hand away. "No problem, Tom. So why are you here today?" he changed the subject. "And near my secluded corner near the dark arts books? Something you see that interests you? Anything that catches your fancy at all?"

Tom seemingly brightened at the mention of dark arts, "Sort of like that, yes. There's this spell that the Ministry proclaimed dark, but isn't really. It's more of a light spell designed to compel others to believe your words. I'm trying to find the _Atrum ad Unus _by Ylla Kerrow—that's where the spell and its mechanics were written."

"Really? I haven't ever heard of that spell..."

And Harry was sure he had read every book in the dark arts section and Library too!

Tom scoffed, "Not many people have heard of that spell, trust me. But I think I know _just _where to find it..."

They ended up searching the whole dark arts section for an hour, before Harry found the book wedged between a Howling Book (a nasty book of curses that bit your arm if you didn't place a drop of blood first) and an 'Advanced Transfiguration for the Enthusiast' Tome. Tom had smoothly eased the book away from the Howling one and carefully, as if it were some treasure, placed it onto the nearest table.

"And this is where all our questions and theories, will be answered," said Tom in a controlled voice. Harry just nodded and took a seat next to Tom, bringing his chair closer when he couldn't see the words right.

A few minutes found their bodies closer to each other. Their heads were bent down and they were both scanning the book with bright eyes, seemingly unaware of how much time went by and how the lights dimmed down and the Library closed. Their lips moved in unison to each word written on the yellow pages and fingers reverently traced each diagram and outline.

Least to say, Harry missed dinner that day.

* * *

"Just who is Lestrange talking to?" asked a curious Hermione Granger, gesturing to the seemingly talkative boy at the end of the Slytherin Tables.

Hadrian suddenly tilted his head back and laughed, his silky voice tinkling and sending shivers down everyone's spine. The other Slytherins had scooted farther away from Hadrian and looked nervous and ill at ease with him. Hermione couldn't blame them.

"I don't know," said a gangly youth—her boyfriend, Ron Weasley. He stuffed a spoonful of potatoes into his mouth, and around it, said, "I think he's a kook, that one. He's talking to himself—his craziness won't land him much points with the ladies even with his dashing good looks, really. I believe he still hasn't gotten a date for tonight's Halloween Ball either..."

Hermione's lips pursed as she studied the tall, and long figure of Hadrian Lestrange.

* * *

"So are you attending the ball?" asked Tom from across him. Harry was eating lunch at the Great Hall for once (he usually ate in the Kitchens). He cut a piece of his fish, stuffed it into his and shrugged.

"I don't know," he answered, chewing a little. "I haven't gotten a date or anything. Not like I care but, I'm not into this socialising thing. I'm not really good with interacting with people." But he seemed to be good enough to interact with people like Tom.

Ever since that day, two weeks ago, the two of them had been inseparable. After they had read the whole _Atrum ad Unus _book, it was well past midnight. Harry figured that the time hadn't mattered, and was too tired to grab something to eat from the kitchens. So Tom had suggested that they sneak back to the Dorms then.

Once reaching the Dorms, Harry found that Tom was actually in his year, though he hadn't any clue why Draco hadn't introduced him. The handsome boy slept in the bed next to Harry's, but the two had naturally gravitated towards each other, and this resulted in Tom sleeping with Harry in his own bed. Every night since then.

Not that Harry minded, really.

He happened to like it a lot.

...Perhaps a bit too much?

In any case, at the present, Tom snorted and took a spoon of his broth. "I'll go with you, if you don't mind. And not to worry, I'm not too good with people either," the older Slytherin said dryly. "They tend to ignore me, so that makes the both of us, eh? At least we'll always have each other."

Harry couldn't help the smile curling at the edge of his lips, even though the last of Tom's words chilled him to the bone.

* * *

Harry was dressed as a Prince, with his sapphire puff-sleeved jerkin and the brown leather leggings encased around his long legs. He had transfigured a quill to be one of his hoity-toity frilly blue shoes; although, if he had to be honest, his shoes had too many frills and laces. But hey, he had to go with originality and this was really what royalty wore two hundred years ago. He had left the protesting Basil on his bed (the snake had said Harry needed his protection from the other snakespeaker, but Harry left him anyway). Tom wouldn't hurt him.

He took one wobbly step in front of another and scowled.

How Royalty walked without tearing off the lace was a mystery to Harry. But he was going to have to learn the answer soon enough.

Tom appeared next to him, and was dressed up as an executioner. The handsome Slytherin had charmed 'blood' to trail down his arms and he wore a tight but bloodied chest piece that was upheld by shoulder straps that went all the way down to his torn black pants. He had steel-toed boots on and a large (Harry hoped it was fake) axe on his back. His long black hair was pulled into a low ponytail and his fringe covered his glowing red eyes (possibly another effect of his costume?)

All in all, Tom looked terribly frightening and realistic.

"Ready?" asked Tom, ruby eyes dark and hooded. He was right next to Harry, their arms brushing against each other.

He seemed to thrum with some unknown energy.

"Y-yeah." Harry tried to calm his tensing body and found himself shooting a nervous smile at Tom's inquiring look. He was never too good with crowds, but at least Tom was with him.

Steeling his nerves, Harry silently entered the Ballroom behind a very confident Tom.

* * *

No one had thankfully noticed their presence.

Harry sipped on a long glass of Firewhiskey. People were beguiled to believe that it was pumpkin juice (probably on account of the pranksters—the Slytherin Trio) and were all, in the end, too drunk to notice what it really was.

Or perhaps they didn't really care.

The Masquerade was for fifth year students and up, so it didn't really matter whether the other students got drunk. They were old enough to take care of themselves.

Harry could feel Tom behind him, speaking a seductive string of Parseltongue into his ear. His breath tickled Harry's neck and Harry felt his face burning as Tom seemed to move closer, positioning himself on his back as if he'd reach down and—

Harry shook his head.

"Let's go somewhere else," spoke Tom suddenly, and before Harry could say anything, was dragged into a shadowed alcove where no one seemed to be sitting.

"T-tom?" said Harry uncertainly. He couldn't see the tall boy anywhere.

There was an abrupt change in wind, and everything seemed to stop.

The music, the lights, the magic—_everything_.

Harry, bewildered by the sudden quiet, walked to a frozen Hermione Granger. She looked attractive and pretty with her bushy hair tamed into a bun and a torn green gown thrown over her body. He supposed she was dressed up as a fairy.

He waved a hand in her face.

She didn't move.

He went to the gangly boy beside him, and did the same.

Not even a blink.

Harry wondered.

There was an unexpected pressure on his back, and he craned up to see a smirking Tom staring at him. The handsome Slytherin was seated on a floating throne in the middle of his peers. It was an ornamental seat with what seemed like gold and diamond tassels decorated on every hinge.

"Tom?" he asked, mystified at Tom's twisting features.

"Hadrian," spoke the boy calmly. He quirked a finger at Harry and on his body's own accord began floating towards a smug Tom.

"What the—"

Once reaching Tom, the older boy gently drew Harry into a tight embrace.

"_Hadrian_," Tom practically purred into his ear, fingering the long, dangling cross earring Harry had.

Unable to say anything, Harry began to feel fear—_real fear—_race down his spine. He had his wand in his pocket but he hadn't expected anything to happen tonight. Besides, he wasn't aware of any spell that would affect a being like Tom.

Maybe he should have listened to Basil...

"That's right," Tom laughed, seemingly reading his mind. And perhaps this powerful apparition did. "Your snake knows, Harry. Knows that I'm not among the living. He was wise enough to inform you, on that very first day, that I was something you shouldn't have been acquainted with."

"N-no..."

Shocked and denial filtered through Harry's features, before he began struggling in Tom's arms.

"Let me go, you devil," spat Harry, rearing his arm back to punch Tom in the face. A spell immediately immobilised him, and Harry tried in vain to claw at Tom's handsome—no _evil _face. He didn't reach down to grab his wand because from what Draco had told him in passing, evil apparitions like Tom—_Riddle, _were impervious to magic.

"Scared, Hadrian?" spoke Tom, amusement flickering in his blood red eyes. He trailed a loving finger down Harry's cheek, then in a fit of insanity, scratched Harry's smooth forehead, delighting in the scream of pain pouring from Harry's lips. Blood tricked down Harry's face and he whimpered, thinking _why, why, WHY _it had to be him.

"Why, Harry?" whispered Tom, nuzzling his face into the crook of Harry's tense neck. "Because I can. And because you are my equal. Do you know why there was a story of _Riddle _passed down in Hogwarts?"

Harry trembled, but shook his head.

"Because everything was true. Each word that Malfoy heir had spoken to you that first night—everything. Except," Tom paused, cupping Harry's cheek in a parody of a caress. "How my soul was split from my body.

You see, none of my followers had seen to inform me of the policy that rite had. The policy where I had to give something in return for immortality. I had not died that day, oh no, contrary to popular belief, Hadrian. My body was put into stasis and my soul was left to walk Hogwarts, until one day, my equal, both in magical and physical aspect, would step foot into Hogwarts.

And you could guess the day that you walked into Hogwarts—I already knew you were the one."

Harry shuddered as Tom's tongue licked the blood off his forehead. He mewled at the pain-pleasure that the action gave, his body trembling even more at the onslaught of conflicting emotions running through him.

Gentle but firms hands massaged his arms, causing him to relax as Tom brought his lips to press a kiss near Harry's mouth. He murmured against Harry's clammy skin, "I wanted to observe you first, Hadrian. That's why I didn't show myself until two weeks ago. I would've done this sooner if that old coot, Albus, hadn't kept you away from my sight. He placed a muggle device, something so unobtrusive that even I hadn't known what he was doing until it was nearly too late."

Harry gasped when Tom bit his lip and ripped the Celtic protection necklace off from his neck. Harry felt a cooling rush of strength and power making its way to his magical core. It felt wrong and sickly but oh so right.

Harry quivered at the strange sensation.

"You see, Hadrian?" Tom laughed wildly. "Mother had been lying to you! As she did with me! Do you hear me Mother? Do you?" roared Tom, his voice ringing throughout Hogwarts. "You can't have him! He's mine, Mother! **MINE**!"

Struggling with the power that binded him, Harry finally found it in himself to speak up, "B-but what was it that you needed to give in exchange for immortality?"

Tom suddenly smiled benevolently down at him and Harry had never been more afraid in all of his life.

"You."

And Harry blacked out.

* * *

Murmurs of confusion rang throughout the Ballroom.

"_Hey! Where is Hadrian Lestrange?"_

"_Yeah, where is he?"_

"_Wasn't he near the windows last?"_

"_...But why are his shoes left here?"_

Contrary to what Harry had believed, people _did _notice his presence. How could they not? His aura was powerful, overflowing and lulling everyone into a false state of security. It had soothed them that someone as strong as Hadrian was in their midst. Nothing would harm them if he was there.

But that wasn't the right thing to wonder about. The right thing was:

What could harm Hadrian? And where was he?

Draco, Pansy and Blaise ran down the long, winding hallway and up the staircase, their footsteps frantic and loud. They eventually reached Dumbledore's office, and were surprised to find it open, panicked voices floating down to reach their ears.

"I saw that boy take Hadrian away!" said Hermione, as the Slytherin Trio made their way into the chilly office. Dumbledore seemed to not have lit the fireplace.

"I saw him too, Professor! You've gotta believe us!" said Ronald Weasley next to Hermione, holding her hand and squeezing it.

Dumbledore looked grave and ancient, his bushy white brows furrowing with serious thought. He stared at the two quietly, speculatively, then raised his eyes to meet Draco's.

"Mr. Malfoy, Zabini, and Miss Parkinson," the old Headmaster wordlessly conjured three more chairs in front of his desk and the three quietly took it without any fuss. The Gryffindors looked at them suspiciously, then turned their attention back to Dumbledore.

"I saw him, I really did!" said Hermione firmly, though she let go of Ron's hand to nervously smooth the knees of her short fairy gown. "It was like I couldn't move, Professor. I could see everything happening but it was like a dream..." her voice broke off into a whisper.

Ron nodded next to her. "Yeah, Professor! I could see Hadrian talk to this really tall man, and then he crooked his finger and everything just went from there!"

"But who was _he_? The thing that Hadrian was speaking to?" asked Pansy, directing her question to Dumbledore. The Headmaster appeared apprehensive, and eventually sighed.

"Have you noticed any weird behaviour from Hadrian recently?" said Dumbledore, folding his hands across his lap.

"Yes," they all chorused.

"I've seen him talking to something at the Great Hall sometimes," said Hermione and Draco tilted his head in agreement.

"I saw him practising spells from the Restricted Section," added Pansy thoughtfully. "The dark arts or sorcery, I believe."

"And it seems as though something sleeps in his bed every night," said Blaise, twisting his hands together.

Dumbledore took all this information in with a sigh. He adjusted his half-moon spectacles and stared down at them. The students fidgeted in their seats.

"...That is some grave information you have told me," said Dumbledore after a few moments of digesting the news. The elderly wizard then got off his seat and walked to the only window in his Office, the one showing the Lake. His body was encased in moonlight as he turned his back to answer them.

"But what you saw was Harry being possessed."

"Possessed?" Draco gawked. "B-b-but! He didn't say _his _name thrice!"

"Be as that may, Mr. Malfoy," Draco was gifted with a stern look from Dumbledore, "Hadrian was the one that _he _was looking for all this time. To think, some fifty years later until his equal was born. It must've made Tom considerably lonely," the old man muttered the last sentence more to himself than anyone else. "It would've droven Tom nearly insane, in fact, waiting all those years..."

"Tom Riddle?" spoke up Hermione, and was quickly shushed by everyone in the room except Dumbledore. "Oh grow up you guys," she glared, "Riddle already has Harry so you don't have to act like cowards anymore. It's just a name."

"You try telling that to Ginny when she said it," mumbled Ron and he pouted when Hermione punched him in the shoulder.

"In any case," continued Hermione, "what do you mean by equal, Headmaster? And what about this Tom fellow?"

Dumbledore only shook his head and turned back to look at the sparkling waters of the Lake.

"I suppose you all deserve to know the true story of Tom Riddle..."

* * *

He was every bit of a prodigy as everyone claimed him to be. Even more so than Hadrian, in fact, just by his actions, words, and natural charm. He was what everyone, in the time of the Great War against Grindelwald, wanted—no, _needed_.

He grew up an orphan in one of the lonely, most abusive orphanages in London.

One day, as I was passing by London, I found Tom performing nonverbal spells—spells that weren't even recognisable to any fully educated wizard. They were spells that just _harmed _by intent.

Tom was truly gifted.

I had been awed by his power and strength and told him of his heritage and legacy.

He loved all the stories I told him and asked him if he could live with me. Fortunately, I talked to the Ward of the orphanage and she agreed to letting Tom go if I signed some papers. I did, and managed to adopt Riddle at the young age of ten.

The year before Hogwarts was one of my happiest memories. I had my adoptive son, Tom Riddle in my life and that was all that mattered. I had taught him the beginnings of everything: Potions, Transfiguration, Charms and the History of Magic. He soaked all the information in like a sponge.

I was proud.

When it was time for him to be introduced at Hogwarts, he took everything in stride, only introducing himself as Tom Riddle and not Thomas Albus Dumbledore, as we had done a legal adoption, muggle and magical alike. I overlooked it, thinking it was a way for him to make friends without my influence.

By the first day, Tom had drawn people in like a moth to a flame—everyone in Hogwarts or anyone that met him, adored him. Top of the class, creator of many spells and potions by the age of fourteen, my son was everything I had hoped he'd become.

Once again, I was a proud man.

But arrogance befalls many men, and I had never noticed Tom drifting slowly away from me. It was too late to notice the huge, black void that served as his heart. My relationship to him was merely beneficial by then, and had I not been blinded by how much good I perceived in his actions—I would've stopped him before all the madness started.

I am just human, children. I did not notice my son step away from the call of light and step into demonic sorcery. I was so blinded by what I thought I saw that by the time I found his body—it was too late, he was gone from my grasp.

The truth of the matter was he had never killed those 30 plus people. He had never done an inch of harm to anyone. He was never known as the 'Bloodletter' or the maniac that killed witches and wizards.

He was just my son, Tom Riddle.

A sacrifice to keep the walls of Hogwarts strong and impenetrable.

* * *

Hermione was openly crying into Ron's arms and Pansy hid her face in Draco's shoulder. Even the two boys, Draco and Blaise shared looks of sorrow.

"But why...why did they say he killed all those people?" whispered Hermione tearfully.

"To make an alibi for the natural magic of Hogwarts," answered Dumbledore, sorrow in his voice. "It is needed once every few hundred years to strengthen the wards and magic of Hogwarts. But they truly do not die," said Dumbledore as the five students stared at him in hope. "Their body is put into a lifelong stasis until their mate steps foot into Hogwarts. However," his twinkling blue eyes hardened, "There was no way to know if the other part of his soul, _his Twin Flame _would ever step or be in Hogwarts."

"And if that was the only condition to fulfill, it would've taken Tom maybe eternity to find him," said Draco in horror.

Realisation dawned on everyone's faces as they reviewed the facts.

When Hadrian had entered Hogwarts, the whole school seemed to lighten up and become even grander than ever before. The dreary walls had brightened, and the House-elves themselves (since they were attuned to Hogwarts's magic) were seemingly full of energy.

No wonder they followed Hadrian like lemmings and allowed the boy to eat at their kitchens and do whatever he wanted.

Because he was the soulmate of the person who gave his life up for Hogwarts.

"Now, the only thing we can do is wait," Dumbledore said, wearily sinking into his chair and conjuring a cuppa for everyone.

* * *

"You don't have to do this," said Harry, stretched out onto a long sacrificial slab. There was Tom's body next to his, and it was cold, icicle-like.

"Yes I do—_no I don't_," muttered Tom the apparition, clearly conflicted with his actions. He was sharpening his carving knife in front of Harry and he was just thankful that the crazy psycho wouldn't be using his axe. Now that, Harry believed that would hurt more than just a skinny knife.

"You don't even know what you're doing," tried Harry, though quieted at the smouldering look Tom shot him with.

When Harry had come to a few minutes ago, he had been roughly trussed and tied up in a strange, but magnificent chamber. It was like the Great Hall, but more Slytherin—more _sinister_, with its aura and decorations.

Who the bloody hell would put candelabras on someone's statue anyway? Not Harry, that's for sure.

"Tom," said Harry pleadingly, "Please don't do this. You _know _you don't want to do this."

"How do you know?" growled the handsome teenager, ruby red eyes narrowing distrustfully at him.

"Because I'm right next to your body, that's why," answered Harry dryly. "Why kill me next to your body?"

"So we can be together forever," replied Tom simply, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Do you really need to kill me?" questioned Harry, gulping at how sharp that sacrificial knife seemed to be getting...

"Yes," Tom said gruffly.

"B-b-but I don't want to die so you can live!" said Harry. "I want to be with you Tom, believe me! Just untie me so we can think of some alternative solution or something!"

Yeah, he was being truthful there. The two weeks he spent with Tom every day was one of his most memorable. He didn't want to die and have his life taken away by something he may have loved.

To be honest, he wasn't sure he loved Tom (though he knew he lusted for the taller teen).

But for everything sane and justified, Harry wouldn't love Tom—_yet. _Until he was doubly sure that Tom, the crazy demon, wouldn't kill his arse.

There was long minutes of quiet, then—

"...Can't I kiss you before I die?" said Harry, resigned to his fate.

Blood red eyes turned to give him a questioning stare and Harry could only lay back and smile at Tom.

"It's okay if I die for you, Tom," Harry said. "Just...let me kiss you this one time? I mean, if I'm your equal or soulmate or whatever, shouldn't I have one wish granted before you run me through with that pointy knife of yours?"

Tom stopped in his ministrations and sighed.

"I suppose," the apparition said doubtingly. He stepped closer to Harry who only scooted back a little into Tom's cold body.

"I thought you wanted to kiss me?" snapped Tom, irritation seeping into his voice.

"Well, I do...but not your apparition self," said Harry. "I want to kiss the real you. Please?" He begged, emerald green eyes desperate.

Tom stood still in place, as if listening to some unknown voice, then reluctantly nodded.

"Fine. Mother said that it was okay. Now here—" he untied Harry's wrists but not his legs. "No funny business, Hadrian," warned Tom. "You know what'll happen if you do anything."

"Yeah, yeah," muttered Harry and turned to face the deathly handsome face of Tom. It was like he was looking at someone through a cryogenic laboratory shield or something. With ice encased all over his body, and his heart beating so slowly—it made Harry think that Tom was truly dead.

But he wasn't, Harry knew.

Because he'd live after Harry died.

Harry could feel a tear running down his cheek as he bent over and placed a gentle kiss on Tom's lips.

And with that, the real Tom's mouth opened to let out an ear-splitting scream.

* * *

Muffled voices were talking around his bed.

Harry opened his eyes and instantly saw his parents' worried faces. Then he flicked his gaze to his right and saw his Uncle Lucius, Draco, Blaise and Pansy. To his surprise, his Godfather Regulus was there and...Tom?

He gasped as he locked eyes with a cobalt blue, and very much alive Tom.

The older Slytherin shot him a grin and gestured to keep quiet.

Harry nodded and looked at his mother.

"Mum?" he croaked, and blinked at how bad his voice sounded. He grappled for a glass of water that was near his bed and chugged it down, sighing at how smoothly it ran down his parched throat.

"Yes dear," Bellatrix cooed and pet his hair. "Mum is here, I'm sorry for letting you go through everything on your own, but I knew I shouldn't have let you attend this school! I should have sent you to Durmstrang like Grandmother insisted but nooo! Your father was adamant that you finish your last two years here and—"

She was cut off by her husband, Rodolphus, who placed a placating hand on her shoulder. "Without him, darling, Tom would have never been brought back amongst the living. He would've stayed and haunted Hogwarts forever if it wasn't for Harry," he said, though immediately cowered when she swatted his hand away and punched him repeatedly in the shoulder.

"How could you say that!" she yelled, "He's been through so much! He even has a scar on his forehead that won't heal and everything! My baby! My darling! Hurt for so long! And it's your fault!" She continued hitting him with her fists and was about to cast a 'Crucio' before Dumbledore stepped in between them.

"Lady Lestrange," he said sternly, "Under no circumstances will you shed blood in the Hospital Wing."

Bellatrix only sneered as everyone else chuckled.

"Hadrian, are you all right?" Dumbledore asked seriously, twinkling blue eyes dimming as they caught hold of the myriad of bruises littering his form.

"Yes, I am, sir," he said politely. "But what happened?"

"The sacrifice, it was a success," said Dumbledore.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, bewildered. "What sacrifice?"

"The one Tom was made to do years ago," his Uncle Regular explained, sitting down next to Harry and giving his hand a squeeze.

"Wait—how does everyone know this except for me and Tom?" said Harry. "I mean, does that legend of him where he killed 30 plus people true or not?"

"It's not true," said Dumbledore. "It was just a cover story for what really happened those fifty years ago."

"Then what really happened?" inquired Harry softly, wondering why Tom the apparition had lied to him.

"Just know that no one killed anyone, and that bad side (Harry knew he was referring to Tom's apparition) is gone forever," said Lucius. "All of this is actually explained during the graduation ceremony at Hogwarts. Pity that we had to tell you four-plus Weasley and Granger-in advance, but I guess it was sorely needed." Lucius just sighed and shook his head at Draco and Blaise's shit-eating grin.

"At least you're okay, Hadrian," said Pansy, awkwardly patting his arm. "Everyone here was so worried for you, you know? You've been out of it for nearly the whole year! It's already June!"

Harry's eyes bugged out of his head as he realised he must've been in a magical coma for close to eight months! He would've fainted if he hadn't been sleeping for so long!

"In any case," Dumbledore clapped his hands, "I think we should all leave. My son seems like he wants to talk to Harry. We should all give them some privacy." The old man's eyes were once again twinkling brightly as he ushered the grumbling adults and whining students out. Just before the door closed, Dumbledore winked at the two and left.

"So," said Harry awkwardly. "You're Dumbledore's son?"

"Yeah, I didn't get to tell you. Sorry," Tom said just as awkwardly.

Harry coughed. "Okay, nevermind that. How come I'm still alive? How come _you're _alive?" he asked.

Tom shrugged. "I really don't know. All I know is that I was in this weird dream and then, all of a sudden, I was next to you. Really haven't the faintest clue what happened before then though. It was all like a blur to me."

"You mean you really don't remember the Masquerade or anything?"

"Masquerade?" Tom's nose wrinkled cutely. "I only remember you. Your face, your body, your scent—just you. And then I remember being angry, but that's about it. Is that a bad thing?" He cocked his head to the side.

Harry shrugged and made a mental note to never get Tom mad again.

"I don't think so," Harry replied.

"Do you hate me?" said Tom, worryingly.

Harry laughed a bit, then shook his head.

"I would never, even if I do have this spiffy scar on my forehead." Harry traced the lightning bolt shaped scar and smiled up at Tom. "At least it makes me look more rugged."

"In your dreams it does," scoffed Tom.

"But you're in my dreams," said Harry innocently.

"Really?" asked Tom seriously.

"Really," Harry confirmed just as seriously.

"Good," Tom murmured, leaning down to give Harry a chaste, but lingering kiss. "Because you're in mine too."

"That's all I could ever want," said Harry.

And Harry kissed him back.

- _**fini**_

_**

* * *

**_

**A/N: This is actually based on a real legend and a movie I saw awhile back. Hope you enjoyed it even though I know the ending isn't really good enough for everyone xD I tried to tie everything together, yknow? So huzzah! 11k+ words! The joy! By the by, if you're curious about how Harry looks after his blood adoption, imagine this:**

**His hair is shoulder-length but wavy, due to Rodolphus's genes. His eyes had lightened to a grassy green, a silverish green, if you will. And he looks just like Bellatrix except his nose is less pointed and his cheekbones a little more hallowed. Thanks for the read! :D**

**REVIEW PLEASE! And requests for stories are welcomed! :D  
**


	2. His Favourite

Title: His Favourite

Summary: Abraxas Malfoy, a god, stays with his soon-to-be-favourite mortal, Hadrian Potter.

Warning: Greek gods, naiveHarry, death, angst, happy ending though (you guys would kill me if it was a sad ending) :D

Pairing: AbraxasHarry, one-sided TomHarry

Rating: T

A/N: This came to me while watching Clash of the Titans lol. Cheers for the Olympians xD Oh! And Abraxas is going to be Morpheus, okay? Okay. Don't kill me for over usage of Greek mythology because I absolutely love it! So there! xD

The Oneiroi (the personification of dreams)

Morpehus = Abraxas Malfoy (god of shaping dreams)

Ikelor = Gellert Grindelwald (god of shaping parts of dreams; inanimate objects)

Phantasos = Albus Dumbledore (god of shaping parts of dreams; animals)

Hades = Tom Riddle (he will play an important role here!) XD

From here on, there will be no last names except for Harry (who will be known as Hadrian because it sounds better xD). But honestly, I probably won't use their surnames much, okay? OKAY.

ON WITH THE STORY!

* * *

Somewhere on Mount Olympus lived a god. His flat was situated near the bottom floor of the vastly and ground housing of the gods. It was a nice flat. Cosy even, with the way the god's drapes were coloured a light, dusky red. There was a faint scent of flowers in the air if one cared enough to breathe deeply, and it was very comfortable. A flat, indeed, fit for a god.

If you looked deeper into flat, you would see that there were golden platters on golden tables, and there were golden chairs on the sparkling golden floors—in fact, the whole room was pure gold barring the silver handles of the doors that led to the main corridor. And they were only _two _percent silver (out of the rest of the ninety-eight gold).

In the middle of the flat was a lush black-furred carpet that extended all the way to the balcony nearby. The mini-staircase fitted with emeralds wound to the bottom of the flat, and hanging from each corner was a lit candle, encased in blue diamonds and pearl stones. The entire flat seemed to extend for miles and miles, but it was only because of the way everything seemed insignificant to the one single bedroom that housed the owner of the said set of rooms.

Said owner was a very quiet god. With long, flaxen hair that swept past his back and intelligent black eyes that seemed to suck everything in. He loved to garden and think. He also had an affinity for playing cards and liked it very much if he won against his brothers in a round, but never got around to it, because he wasn't very good at cards anyway. He just liked it because of the pack of cards Albus had gotten specially made by their Uncle Hephaestus. They were a beautiful grey and the cards had moving pictures of his relatives: the King being his Uncle Zeus and the Queen being his Aunt Hera. The Jack was surprisingly his favourite Uncle Hades, and no one really cared to ask why he was the Jack.

So it was on an absolutely lovely day—which was quite the norm there in Olympus—that we find the youngest son of Hypnos, Morpheus, lounging on his bed midmorning. His golden hair flipped haphazardly around his right shoulder and trailed down to his back as he sat in the centre of the large, canopied bed. The sheets were a fine, silky sky blue and his covers pure white, with the pillows large and fluffy. In reality, the whole thing seemed to engulf the tall god and caress his very body. Which was, once again, quite normal.

Thus as Morpheus, Abraxas as we shall now call him, lounged around, he sighed to himself and wondered if he'd have his usual bread and honey breakfast or seed bread lightly drizzled with nectar? The choices, the choices.

"_Brother_!" called out the familiar, sing-songy voice of Ikelor, Albus. "It is breakfast time!" the playful god waltzed his way into Abraxas's chambers with a sunny smile, as Phantasos, his twin Gellert, trailed listlessly behind him with a scowl.

"Breakfast," said Gellert in monotone, as he thrust a tray of food into Abraxas's hands.

"So you two did wake up earlier than me," commented Abraxas, as the twins took a seat on his bed. "I didn't think that you two did, but seeing the nice, bright day out, we must have did a good job last night on Apollo's dream. He made it quite sunny today."

"You don't say," grumbled Gellert with a dark glare, "It nearly blinded me when I opened the drapes. Damn sunlight."

"Well I liked it," said Albus cheerfully around a stolen mouthful of food from Abraxas's plate. "It's very pretty today."

"You say that because Father gave you the seaside view, not the dark, damp view of the blasted human settlement," complained Gellert. "All those mortals ever seem to be doing is slandering Uncle Zeus's name and making merry out of nothing. Fools," he sniffed.

Abraxas shrugged as he bit through the crust on his bread, since he did not want to incur his elder brother's wrath too early this morn. Gellert had the tendency to be a hot head in the mornings. The golden-auburn haired god would be in a frightful mood until late afternoon, as always. Gellert had a tendency to scare even their Father as he glowered at everything in his path with shining red eyes.

Albus, unlike his much hot-headed twin brother, was a red haired god with twinkling and very mischievous blue eyes. He was slighter than Gellert, and a little on the slim side but he had a heart of gold and a playful air. He was their Father's favourite, and neither Abraxas nor Gellert ever fought about it, because what good would it do them? It was all in their nature, as predetermined.

"You know," said Abraxas amiably, after he was done with his breakfast. "They say that some mortals are actually quite kind. A good few, even comparable to us."

"And who told you that drivel?" sniffed Gellert, expertly plaiting Abraxas's hair and patting it once after he was done.

"Uncle Zeus," Abraxas answered simply.

"And you're talking about the resident womaniser," Gellert pointed out. "He'll say anything is infinitely good if it is beautiful. Or is exotic enough to catch any eye."

"But he did create them—the mortals, I mean," Albus pointed out mildly, ignoring the dark scowl that was aimed his way from Gellert. "They are supposed to worship him and love him because he made them. But sometimes," Albus shrugged, "You can never fully guess why things turn out the way they do—with all their desecration and heresy. They're like children who don't know any better, right?"

Gellert's lips twisted but he nodded in acquiescence. "True enough," admitted the god reluctantly. "But I still don't like them much," he muttered as Abraxas and Albus got ready for another day at Olympus. There were clothes strewn everywhere as Albus passed Abraxas one outfit after another, only for them to be rejected until Gellert, quite frustrated at their pickiness, decided on a grey shirt and black leggings for his flaxen haired brother. The trio then bustled out of the room and out into the living area where the hearth was kindled and a tea kettle placed in it.

Abraxas was comfortable as he busied himself with pouring warm, liquid ambrosia tea into porcelain mugs and passing it along to his brothers. He was rather content today and in a good mood because of it, and didn't feel any real reason to get out of his flat and explore the human world that day. However, Albus argued that it wasn't right at all to make dreams to people they had never closely observed.

"So their dreams relate to them in life," explained Gellert, trying to make up for his twin's cryptic remarks about the mortal subconscious and whatnot. "I'd like some bread please," Gellert then said, and out of thin air, a slice of bread, delicately drizzled with honey and sprinkled with nuts had landed in his hands. He took a small bite out of it (feeling somewhat full from his earlier breakfast) and said, "As much as it pains me to say it otherwise, we must closely observe these mortals so we know what dreams to send them. As is our way of life and what we do, we have to do our parts as the Olympians."

"But we never had to do this before," argued Abraxas.

"Because it was never brought up by Father 'til now," said Albus, with a shifty glance at his twin. When the taller brother practically ignored the subtle hinting, he was elbowed hastily in the side by Albus.

"Ouch—what the—I mean—what do you propose we do, brother?" questioned Gellert and composed himself. He tried to look irritated with the prospect of having to go down to the mortal lands to _mingle _(not that it was much effort on his half). Zeus knew how most gods _hated _to mingle. And he was one of them.

"_Ahem. _Yes, well I think we should go down there in person to closely observe the mortals. Preferably in disguises that won't cause too much attention. You and I," he said to Gellert, shooting a wide grin to his sulking twin, "Are going to go down as old fishermen. If you can't beat them, join them!" said Albus cheerily as Gellert groaned and basically facepalmed at the ridiculous notion.

"And if someone finds out? What then, genius?" grumbled the reddish-golden haired god as he slowly transformed into a bent old man with browned skin and white hair. Being found out as a god was always a worry, but Albus knew his way around the mortal realm. He actually preferred them to his own relatives even!

"It will be all right, brothers. Relax. No one will find out," answered Albus breezily, waving his own, newly transformed gnarled hand. "You, on the other hand, Abraxas," he turned to face his curious faced brother, "Are going as some noble from Athens. They won't bother to make sure you really are what you say you are because the only thing we'll be disguising for you, are your eyes, height, and aura. A lot of work if you ask me."

And thus, a dazed Abraxas found himself much shorter, powerless and standing in a temple dedicated to his Aunt Athena (who was also known as Rowena to her relatives). He figured he was in Athens by the way the temple was one of the finest ones he had ever laid eyes on. It must have been the Parthenon, he recalled, remembering the way his Aunt had crowed for years about how beautiful her temple was. Go figure his Aunt was a favourite of the mortals. They even created a gold and ivory statue of her right outside the Parthenon. Large and daunting, the statue captured most of her better features like her high nose and strong chin. Too bad his Aunt was actually a little more manlier than that.

Vaguely thinking back to his fellow brothers, Abraxas wondered how long they would be out as mortals. 'Perhaps a few weeks or two, seeing as though not all mortals and gods needed to dream,' Abraxas thought and carefully walked out of the looming temple entrance. The steps leading downward were as marble and as white as the statue near him and he snorted at the height. Almost 36 meters tall. Almost as tall as she really was. Almost.

As Abraxas reached the bottom step, his eardrums were immediately assaulted with shouts from peddlers and storeowners. 'Not to mention the smell,' Abraxas thought, curbing his instincts to gag at the overall scent. The Marketplace reeked of fish oil, blood, and other such nasty things blended into one rather disgusting stench.

"Leathers, new and specially packed!" called a beefy man from behind his stall. "Only a few pieces worth left—get them while you can!"

"Cheese and spices for sale! Good for your food and especially good for your stomach!" shouted a woman nearby.

"Come to the Seaship Seafood store! Oysters, octopi, and tuna for a bargain!"

Abraxas's nose started to tingle painfully as a boy forcefully shoved a basketful of wheat into his face. "Half off today, my good man! You willing to buy some?" When Abraxas only shook his head, the boy then began to plead, "Come on, you must need some today, it's a good day for kneading dough and making bread! Please buy some!" the boy pressured.

Just to get away from the annoying mortal, Abraxas pressed a gold piece into the boy's palm and hurried off, unaware of the boy's shocked reaction. With what Abraxas gave him, the boy wouldn't need to sell things for a week! Happy, the boy went off back home, to tell his mother of the good news.

Abraxas, far enough away from that persistent peddler, and far enough away from the marketplace, breathed in a sigh of relief and continued observing the mortals (though this time, with dark and wary eyes). He avoided the normal walkways for mortals and zigzagged through suspicious alleyways and even came upon a beautiful white fountain that he dipped his feet into. It was a good thing no one was there to witness that, Abraxas thought, going further and further into Athens.

It wasn't long or far off that he jogged, when he happened by a garden with flowers.

He had never seen such flowers in full bloom.

Mouth open in awe at the beauty of it, Abraxas stepped into the privately owned gardens and looked around. The archway was decorated with blooming white and yellow flowers, and the inside was even more majestic with purple, blue, even red flowers in full bloom! Abraxas had never seen anything as breathtaking and as beautiful as these. He had to give his Uncle Zeus some credit—mortals did seem to know how to also make beautiful things.

"Hello?" said a small, quiet voice behind him.

Abraxas instantly turned around, bearing an almost guilty look for stumbling upon the place and not asking for permission. He sent the frail, black-haired mortal in front of him a nervous smile. "Hello," he replied as the stranger stared at him quizzically.

"Are you the new gardener that my Mother hired?" asked the boy, and Abraxas shook his head. "Oh." The boy's shoulders first slumped, and he then said, "Then why are you here? No one seems to like to take care of the gardens except for mother and I. Father being too busy at the capital to really understand the gardens."

"You grew these on your own?" asked Abraxas, amazed at the beautiful oasis. It was nearly comparable to his own small garden back at Olympus.

The boy shrugged. "Mother helps me sometimes, when she's not too busy with the house affairs. She tries her best really, but she can only keep the pear trees near the pond alive." He pointed a frail hand to the small body of water a few feet away. It had a range of pear trees nearby. "I happen to have a green thumb so most of the plants and trees I care for, bloom the way they do."

"But they are all so magnificent," breathed Abraxas and gestured to the sweet-smelling cypress and alder trees. "This must have taken you years to do," furthered Abraxas, sending a broad smile out to him as he took in the sights of clear, running water, apple trees and sweet figs and olives in full bloom.

"Maybe," mused the boy. "But a lot of it was already here before I started on anything. May I have your name, sir?"

Abraxas blinked, and berated himself for forgetting his manners. He bowed low to his newfound friend to make up for his absentmindedness.

"My name is Abraxas. What is yours?"

"Hadrian," the black-haired mortal took a seat on a stone bench and gestured with a thin wrist for Abraxas to sit next to him. There they sat, happy and chattering about anything and everything under the sun—the weather, the trees, and even the state of affairs. They talked about everything. Of course, by the time it was nearly evening, Abraxas realised he had lingered there far too long and had forgotten his original goal of observing mortals in their natural habitat.

As much as the god didn't want to leave, he had to. So with obvious reluctance, Abraxas told Hadrian that he had to go soon. The boy only clung to his sleeve and begged him not to leave, until Abraxas nodded and agreed to stay a few more minutes.

Time passed by pleasantly, and Abraxas found himself liking the mortal, Hadrian, more and more. But as evening set in, and the sun began to set, Abraxas knew by then, that he had to go. So again, he reluctantly told the boy he had to go.

"I sincerely apologise for taking up most of your time, but I do have to go back home," said Abraxas, glancing at the sundial situated at the middle of the garden. It was half past five already. "I had a lovely afternoon with you."

Even with just a few hours of meeting the mortal, Abraxas had come to know that Hadrian was a very sickly individual. With his much too pale skin, unnatural delicateness and frailty, it made Abraxas want to hold the mortal tight in his arms and make sure he was safe from harm. 'Which is a very strange notion,' Abraxas thought. He had never had this particular feeling before. And he had lived a very long time too.

"Come dine with my mother and me, tonight. I know she would love to meet you," urged Hadrian. "And I can even get the cook to make you your favourite honey bread," the boy then offered, though it sounded quite like pleading to Abraxas's ears. He turned bright, almost glowing green eyes to the god, and Abraxas was hard-pressed to ignore them. They were as enchanting as the owner.

Without any further thought, Abraxas agreed to it and they were off. Through the winding stone steps of the gardens, bypassing plenty of sparkling rocks in the trickling waters and even more breathtaking scenery, which Hadrian explained was part of his Father's lands. Abraxas knew to some extent that mortals had a queer tendency to take land and name it as theirs, but he also knew better than to bring it up in conversation. So he instead, remained somewhat neutral and agreeable with his queries.

They soon reached a large home with an even larger courtyard. Abraxas saw that the gardens were just another extension from a gated home and was actually connected to some private premises. Good thing that Hadrian found him and not some guard of theirs, Abraxas thought. Otherwise, he'd probably be forcefully thrown out.

He and Hadrian then entered through a simple wooden doorway that led into a vast courtyard with shaded canopies and an almost temple-esque look. Hadrian's whole home reminded him of the Parthenon, but just a smaller, homier version of it.

"I know it's somewhat small, but I hope it's to your liking," said Hadrian, almost worryingly. "Father said they'd do some renovations next summer, but he always says that. We have five bedrooms and a guest bedroom for you to sleep in should you decide to stay for awhile." With that sentence uttered, it seemed like Hadrian _wanted _him to stay for awhile.

Abraxas filed that thought away for reflection later tonight.

They passed by some male servants and the men immediately bowed before scurrying their way around the house to do their duties. Hadrian mostly ignored them (except for a redheaded one to which he waved to) as they made their way to one side of the courtyard, but Abraxas was fascinated with their work and he couldn't help but observe them closely with sharp, hawkish eyes.

* * *

Hadrian's mother, Lily, was beautiful in all senses of the word. She had charisma enough to get even Abraxas to lower his guard down, and she had elegance in all her manners. From the tip of her red crown, to the soles of her delicate feet, Lily Potter was a graceful and downright remarkable woman. If his Uncle Zeus was here—well, Abraxas wouldn't want to think about what the perverted god would do to Lily.

They were eating at a secluded part of the courtyard, with white canopies hanging overhead. The table was large and rectangular, and there were many dishes for a person to eat. Abraxas was rather surprised to see that Lily and Hadrian gave food out to the servants and even ate with them, but the two mortals seemed like genuinely good people. Something hard to come by in this war-laden world.

He raised a cup to his lips, and caught Hadrian's green eyes. The boy quickly looked away with a flush, and Abraxas only furrowed his brow at the bizarre reaction. Lily seemed to have seen it and only sent the god a knowing wink and continued laughing her tinkling and charming laugh as she listened to a servant recall a tale of an empty milk jug and water basin.

"So, Abraxas," said Lily, after all the plates were cleared away and the three were mostly left alone. "Are you visiting Athens because of the scenery or for something else entirely?"

Abraxas blinked and placed his cup filled with freshwater down onto the table.

"I am here purely for the aesthetics," he said and shot Hadrian a smile that caused the boy to flush once more and duck his head. "My brothers have told me that I must go out in the world more and see how things work—so here I am. Out and about in the place they left me, Athens."

Lily made an understanding noise in the back of her throat and nodded, reaching over to pat his hand. "You're welcome to stay here if you want. I know how difficult it is to find a place to sleep here at Athens. Most inns and taverns are filled with ilk that someone like you should never associate with."

"Someone like me?" he prompted curiously.

"She means someone as...striking as you," Hadrian said, with a pink and flattering tinge to his cheeks. Abraxas liked the colour on him.

However...

"Striking?" Abraxas echoed, confused.

"Have you not seen yourself in a mirror?" asked Lily, seemingly amused with the way he cocked his head to the side and lifted one shoulder up, then down. "Hermione, a mirror please," she called out, and a brown haired servant girl hurried to her side. She had in her hands a finely crafted mirror with pearls inlaid on its handles. Lily thanked the girl before handing the intricate bauble to Abraxas.

"Look and see for yourself," the woman commanded with twinkling eyes as she delicately gripped a cup to hide her smirking face.

Abraxas stared at his reflection in the mirror.

It wasn't like he had never seen himself in the mirror. Quite the contrary. In Olympus, there were mirrors every which way you turned in the corridor. Be it left or right—there would be a mirror situated right where you would see your best side. Not like Abraxas really went out enough to say he had a best side, but he knew that the other gods and goddesses had plenty of good sides. He was just the exception.

And there he was.

With his long, flaxen hair. Nothing unusual there. His eyebrows were still arched high and dark. The only visible thing he could see that changed about him were his eyes—they were a nice hazel colour. Definitely something unusual since he had always had black eyes. Figures that Albus (or perhaps was it Gellert?) would change his eye colour to a more natural colour.

Abraxas gave the mirror back to Lily and bluntly said, "I don't see anything striking about me."

The woman twittered in her seat and laughed her tinkling laugh, and even Hadrian let out a small chuckle.

"I suppose you would be the only one to say that," said Hadrian laughingly, beaming at Abraxas who only raised a brow in return.

* * *

His rooms at the Potter household were indeed, smaller than his own at Olympus. But it had a certain quality to it that just screamed home and Abraxas was content with leaving it the way it was. There were windows leading out to a small balcony and the bed was simpler and smaller than his own, however, Abraxas would not change a single thing in his bedroom. This whole room was different, yes. But as he took a good eyeful of the room, he had to admit that it was a good kind of different that made his heart ache and his chest tingle. He wouldn't mind staying here for a while.

Earlier that evening, Hadrian had led him here with a soft 'goodbye' and a kiss to the cheek, which felt immensely odd, seeing as though Hadrian was a boy. But Abraxas didn't really mind. The feeling of soft lips pressed onto his cheek lingered and Abraxas quite liked the feeling to be honest.

He looked out the window and saw his Aunt Artemis (also called Helga to her immediate family), sitting on the edge of the crescent moon, playing with her hair. She sat there with her silhouette against the moonlight, softly singing a song that his Uncle Apollo, taught her. Abraxas waved at her and in return, the goddess sent back a wide smile before continuing to braid her long, golden brown tresses.

Turning back to his new room, he walked back to the small bed and made himself comfortable, knowing that somewhere out there, his brothers would be watching over him.

It was annoying, however, that the two left him to be all alone by his lonesome.

'Just what were the two doing anyway?' was Abraxas's last thought as he drifted off into a fitful slumber.

* * *

"You think we should go to him?" asked Gellert. The twins were already back in Olympus, inside their conjoined flat. And the only thing they seemed to be doing was watching Abraxas from their seat beside the window.

"I don't think so," said the redheaded god. "He looks to be enjoying himself. Besides, Father said the Oracle at Delphi prophesised of a boy that would change Abraxas's life. He said we should do everything to get those two together. So tonight, we'll send him parts of his _dream_!" cheered Albus.

"Then the horned gate—"

"It is!" finished Albus with an enthusiastic grin. "Now I know we can only send parts of a dream and not the general picture like Abraxas, but we can definitely do the _parts _of a dream I'm sure would linger in his mind..." Albus cackled gleefully, while rubbing his fingers together. There was a scheming look to his features which made his twin purse his lips.

"Somehow, I don't think I'm going to enjoy working with you tonight, brother," Gellert told his wily counterpart truthfully.

Albus only shot him a large grin and cracked his knuckles and shoulders.

"Let's do our best to make Abraxas thoroughly enjoy his dreamstate, 'gel! Father even concocted a special sleep formula just for him, until he realises that he _needs _that mortal more than anything..."

Gellert only rolled his eyes at his family's antics (really, where did he get his cautiousness from, his mother-?), before readying his own fingers and mind for a night of dream weaving.

* * *

Nearly a week had passed since Abraxas's stay at the Potter household. It was pleasant and warm and positively filled with delight as Hadrian was a constant to his side morning, and strangely at night, in his dreams.

They spent almost every second together, exploring the vast fields of the garden, telling stories of gods and goddesses (which Abraxas was quite adept at) and even playing instruments in the courtyard. Hadrian had surprised Abraxas with his knowledge of the lyre and one of the more difficult instruments to play—the _aulos_.

While Hadrian looked absolutely ridiculous playing the aulos, his efficiency and talent at it more than made up for his funny image. The sound that was emitted while Hadrian played a song of the tales of Odysseus was low and soothing to the ear.

Abraxas vowed that if Hadrian ever died, he'd grab Hadrian's soul and place it within the stars or in the courtyard of Olympus, where he would be able to play any instrument he could ever possibly want for eternity.

However, the matter of ever meeting Hadrian's father was difficult. The older man was elusive and only ever came home during the dead of the night, when his Aunt Helga would be up on the moon, humming. She told him of how the elder Potter looked and how his personality was. From what Abraxas could sort out from her female talk, he deduced that James Potter was a very kind man.

Speaking of elder Potters, the only time that Abraxas had ever met the elder was one time in the evening of his fourth day. The patriarch had suddenly waltzed where they were dining, unannounced. By the way everyone sent the tall, regal man with messy hair a smile, Abraxas realised who he was and held his head down.

James only smiled and laughed raucously, telling Abraxas he could stay however long as he wanted. They had no fear for lack of food or warmth of fire, the man explained.

...And Abraxas rather liked the way the older mortal treated him. Like a member of his own family.

That thought sent a nice thrill down his spine and for the rest of that evening, Abraxas remained smiling and sitting next to Hadrian, who periodically squeezed his leg under the table.

Thus, now, on the fifth morning of his stay, Abraxas found himself quite close to Hadrian, and never wonting for anything more.

Until he met with his Uncle Hades that very afternoon...

* * *

Abraxas had only been with the servants, Hermione and Ron, assisting them in their daily chores of washing dishes and preparing the food for the next meal. He found their banter amusing and entertaining. It reminded him a lot of his older brothers (who had yet to appear to him, the smarmy bastards). That and he enjoyed the way the young redhead blushed whenever Hermione came near. It was obvious that Ron harboured feelings for the intelligent girl. A lot of feelings.

The tall, lanky redheaded boy was a close friend of Hadrian's since childhood, and Hermione had only come into their lives a few years prior. But from what Abraxas learned, the three were inseparable and always did everything together.

Except when he had come around.

But Abraxas wouldn't press the two for details as to what they felt about being subtly ignored by their bestfriend. And they were being ignored in favour of entertaining a complete stranger. It wasn't his place to question them as to how they felt about it, although he was very curious about their answers.

However, Abraxas had a feeling the two didn't particularly care and had _other _things (like each other) on their mind.

Abraxas was coming out of the kitchen when he caught sight of the tall, dark, and imposing figure of his Uncle, towering above Hadrian from his seat in the courtyard. Surprised, Abraxas jogged towards the two.

"I will not go with you, Hades," Hadrian frowned and tried to shake off the hand on his wrist. "I told you once before that I do not want to lay with you!"

"But you know your rejection would not cease my efforts, my dear flower," purred Hades's smooth, velvety voice. The sound caressed ears and spun silk and shrouded most mortals' vision, but it was impervious to Hadrian. Which meant that Hadrian was something different, exotic like the Nubians in Egypt. It made Hadrian an_ anomaly_, thus making Tom lust for the mortal boy all the more.

"Tom!" Abraxas found himself shouting. Why? He didn't really know, but an odd urge of protectiveness surged through him, seeing Hadrian being manhandled by someone like his powerful Uncle.

"Why, nephew!" said Tom, lips curving into a condescending smile. He released Hadrian from his grasp and the frail boy landed back onto his seat with a soft thud. "I didn't know you were here, Abraxas! Come to visit your favourite uncle, perhaps?" The dark god held his arms wide open, and seeing as Abraxas stood rooted to his spot, put his arms down and scoffed. "I see."

He turned back to the fuming Hadrian and pointed a long, rude finger at the mortal. "You here for this delectable boy too?"

Confused, Abraxas only stared at him. "What do you mean by that?" he asked, bewildered.

"Oh! Forget my manners!" Tom looked positively gleeful. "You must be wondering why I'm here yes? Well I met this delightful mortal on one of my more nicer visits to the human realm. He was in his garden and seeming all sad and lonely and wanting of company that, well," the god sighed dramatically and eyed Hadrian, who stiffened in his place, "I talked to him."

"As a snake," recalled Hadrian, glowering. "And you! You tricked me into thinking that you weren't who you said you were!" He directed furious green eyes to Abraxas, and the flaxen haired god flinched and coloured slightly. He hadn't meant to lie to Hadrian all this time. It wasn't like he actually _meant _to do that. He just—he just...forgot. That's all-

Abraxas frowned as Tom's voice broke through his dismal thoughts:

"Yes, yes, _that_. I already apologised for my deceit as I am sure my favourite nephew will too. I thought we established that all was forgiven and what not." Tom waved a hand. "But honestly, what surprised me on that first visit was that you understood snake-speak, one of the most difficult languages to interpret. Even brother dearest has difficulties translating snake-speak, but what a shock to find a _full _mortal capable of not only understanding it, but speaking it as well! How mind-boggling!" Tom said and conjured a chair for both he and Abraxas. "Come, nephew, make yourself comfortable. Then you may tell me how you happened to meet the current apple of my eye." Hadrian shot Tom a glare but the god effortlessly ignored it and silently ordered Abraxas to sit next to him.

The flaxen-haired god gingerly took the proffered chair.

"I was sent here with my brothers earlier this week," Abraxas mildly put in, from around his Uncle's urging stare.

"Brothers?" interrupted Hadrian.

"Ikelor and Phantasos—my brothers and I are gods of dreams. "

"Oh." Hadrian looked like he wanted to say more, but at Tom's annoyed glance, stayed silent.

"Then-?" Tom said impatiently.

Abraxas hesitated, then said, "Our Father sent us out here on a mission. Something about going out into the mortal realm and understanding the mortals so we have a better grasp of what dreams to send them. It all sounded fishy to me," sighed Abraxas, "And I suppose it was, seeing as though my brothers still haven't come back for me. But I still went and well, this is where I'm at now—with Hadrian and his family."

Tom hummed. "Sounds like a divine coincidence. It makes sense for the old man to do this," the god of the Underworld commented. "He must have finally listened to the Oracle."

"You mean there's a prophecy about me?" asked Abraxas, incredulous.

"Oh? Did I let that slip? Silly me," sniggered Tom as Abraxas stood up, glowering at him darkly. The effect wasn't what the flaxen-haired god would hope for with flour smudged on his patrician nose, and his clothes rumpled, but it would have to do.

Tom just laughed and lightly cuffed his arm.

"It's nothing you should be wary of! It's just the usual prophecy given to every god. Their fortune in _love_."

At that statement, Hadrian couldn't help but interrupt with a loud snort. "She can make predictions about love and such?"

"Correction: _he. _And it sounds ridiculous, I know," said Tom with a smirk. "But it is as it always was. Every god is given a series of fortunes at the beginning of their existence. Sometimes gods—like Poseidon and I—are excluded from her worldly vision. Although Sirius does usually give us barmy fortunes foretelling our imminent doom and such. Zeus—I mean Cornelius, all-father of the pantheon of gods usually gets his fortune told but it's the same thing every mortal year: '_your bits will fall off and you shall develop a skin rash that makes you bald'. _Never seen any of that happen so my brothers and I have learned to deal with the crazy Oracle."

"I see." Both Hadrian and Abraxas looked thoughtful. Hadrian, because his Uncle _was _the crazy Oracle and Abraxas because his father never mentioned a crazy Oracle.

"...Why didn't Father believe in it?" he had to ask.

Tom couldn't help but sneer a bit. "Most of us Olympians ignore the batty Oracle. Forgive your Father-dearest for letting it slip. He probably hadn't even known that it was true until he spotted someone that fulfilled the other half of your prophecy. And mind you, that may take _hundreds _of years to accomplish. Be glad that yours is coming true. I have yet to see Hephaestus, find _his _true lover. Not that Aphrodite isn't a sore sight. He is a little loose in his ways though, if you know what I mean," he directed a wink at Abraxas who gagged. Yes, he was fully aware of how _loose _his Uncle Gryffindor was with his ways. The slut.

Gryffindor was having the most _obvious _affair in the world with his Uncle Ares god of war, Slytherin. Everyone knew that Gryffindor was sleeping with Slytherin except for Hephaestus. The poor sap believed that Gryffindor was most chaste and faithful to his ugly self.

"In any case..." Tom stood up and clapped his hands, making the chairs disappear in a puff of black smoke. "I have lingered far too long here in this realm. I will take my leave, precious flower," he bent down to press a chaste kiss onto Hadrian's lilywhite hand and deftly ignored the scowl he earned from owner of said hand.

He then briefly glanced at Abraxas.

"Nephew, take care of my flower," he said with a serious look in his eyes, and Abraxas's lips thinned but he did still go over and give the obnoxious god a hug.

"So long for now then. I'll be sure to visit again sometime next week, precious flower. 'til then!" And the dark god then vanished through a crawling black vortex that sparkled with stars and infinite lights. The very atmosphere tightened with the appearance of the void and seemed to squeeze the air and life out of everything nearby before it completely disappeared seconds later.

There was an uncomfortable silence, in which Abraxas took the time to think about the latest events. So his Uncle Hades was wooing Hadrian—no surprise there. But what came as a surprise were the special talents the mortal seemed to have. The gift of snake-speak was something not all gods—not even Zeus himself—was privy with. Perhaps that was why his Uncle wanted Hadrian so badly. Hadrian was similar to him.

The silence stretched on until Abraxas gave Hadrian a guilty look.

"I'm sorry for not telling you that I was a god," he said. "It just completely slipped my mind. I didn't think it would matter—"

"That's right. You didn't think," snapped Hadrian coldly. Though his glare lessened a second later and he sent a small smile to the disheartened god, "But I'm glad that I met someone like you, Abraxas. And now that I know the real you," Hadrian's smile widened. "You may call me Harry. It's what Hermione and Ron call me in private. And to be honest," the enchanting mortal's voice lowered, "I'd like to get to know you better. Is that all right with you?"

And Abraxas couldn't be more confused at the myriad of feelings dwelling within him. But he took one good look at Harry's gleaming green eyes and couldn't help but acquiesce. How could he say no when Harry gave him a look such as that one?

* * *

Months passed, and summer blended into autumn. It was still bright and sunny and beautiful, and Abraxas still hadn't heard from his two brothers. Thankfully, his annoyance hadn't lingered long for he had multiple distractions to keep his mind occupied. One, being Hermione and Ron (the two seemed to have confessed to each other weeks before and were a happy couple). They somehow always needed his advice on things. Why? Well, he never knew, but maybe it had to do with his ability to just listen and not interrupt like Albus or Gellert.

Second, his dreams were starting to affect his daily life. They were always of soft, pink lips pressed against his own and sparkling green eyes. Phantom touches on his face and even the occasional whisper. He already figured that he was dreaming of Harry but he would still strangle his brothers when he had the chance.

Finally, his main and favoured distraction was Harry. He was bright and mischievous and absolutely wonderful to Abraxas. The flaxen-haired god expected the mortal to grow weary and annoyed of his presence after the first week, but much to his astonishment, Harry was neither. In fact, the boy seemed to cling to him day after day; happily chatting to him and even spending time with him no matter what the occasion. Abraxas was grateful for company for he was used to Albus's constant chatter and Gellert's snappy comebacks. Being with Hadrian oddly felt like home.

_Home._

On his third month in the Potter household, Abraxas lay on a simply furnished couch in the _Andron. _He was playing with a loose string from the pillow his head was on and was simply staring up at the marble ceiling.

He had yet to figure out a way back home. Abraxas was still pretty new at visiting the mortal realm and his brothers had conveniently _forgotten_ to tell him how to get back to Olympus. It wasn't as if he _disliked _staying with Hadrian.

It was just that he just missed his family and home.

Even in spite of the fact that Tom, true to hi word, visited periodically, Abraxas, even now, wasn't satisfied with just seeing his favourite Uncle clamour and swoon over Hadrian. He also saw Helga on a nightly basis, and sometimes his Uncle Apollo, Remus (lover of the crazy Oracle), who occasionally visited his sister.

Yes. He wasn't satisfied.

He wasn't satisfied with the way Harry seemed to shy away from his touch, the way soft lips would brush against his ear every time Harry whispered to him and the way—

Wait. Why was he even thinking of these things?

Scowling, Abraxas curled up on his side. He donned an irritated expression. It wasn't fair that Harry popped into his mind more often than not. Was it because they spent too much time together? Or was it because of something else?

...Thinking of this all just gave him a headache.

He massaged his temples and sighed, once more staring at the ceiling.

* * *

"What do you mean he's sick?" questioned Abraxas, worry etched onto his face. He was watching Harry from the corner of his eyes. The boy was sick with fever and trundled with blankets from head to toe on his bed. The only visible thing that Abraxas could see was Harry's flushed cheeks and the sweat rolling down his forehead.

Lily sighed and gave him a sharp look. "Abraxas, dear. You and I both know that Harry isn't the healthiest of boys. He's always been sick. I'm surprised these past few months that he hasn't even caught a cold or anything. Must've been your influence," the beautiful woman mused, a slight smile on her lips. She seemed to snap out of her daze a few seconds later though at his inquiring stare, "The healer tells me that there's nothing he can do for him. This sickness—whatever he has, has to go away on its own. It's never been this bad..." The woman murmured, bringing a hand to her forehead and rubbing it. She was stressed by the looks of it.

"I see." Abraxas's forehead wrinkled in thought. "I'll see if I can do anything."

A hand went to his shoulder before he could turn around and walk off, "You can't do anything, Abraxas," said Lily sadly. "All the healers have, and they came up with nothing."

For the first time since he had known the alluring mother, Abraxas felt anger towards her and her resignation with Harry's condition. Rudely shrugging off her hand, the flaxen-haired god stalked off to the gardens, intent on calling upon his Uncle Hades.

"Tom!" he barked. "Come out here, right this instance!"

There was no sweeping blackness or infinite void that his Uncle liked to use as transportation. He tried again,

"Hades!"

"All right, all right, no need to yell so loud." Tom blinked into existence right next to him, picking his ear with his pinky finger. "What's got you into such a fit?" drawled the god, in a bored tone. He only seemed somewhat curious as to his nephew's sudden summons. He never got summoned. Ever. Not unless someone needed him for sacrifice, murders, killings, etc... Now those were the kinds of summons Tom was used to.

Abraxas's eyes narrowed.

"Harry," spat the god of dreams, "is sick. Do you have any reasons why?"

Tom appeared thoughtful for a minute, then shrugged. "How should I know, nephew?" questioned the dark haired man with a yawn, "I'm not the god of healing, your Uncle Apollo, Cedric, is. I only do the dirty job of picking up their poor souls for judging when they're sent to the underworld. None of my business if he's still alive, really."

"He's your business if you want him to _stay _alive," Abraxas nearly snarled. He was getting angrier and angrier by the second. Didn't his Uncle understand that if Harry died—if Harry died...

"Do you think he'll die?" whispered Abraxas a moment later, when Tom refused to answer him.

Silence.

Tom's baleful red gaze then bore into his own.

"I checked his yarn with Clotho," answered the god quietly. "He doesn't have much time left." A thin, white string appeared into his grasp and he showed it to his gaping nephew.

"But-!" Abraxas couldn't believe it—but there it was before his very eyes. Harry's life. Almost at its breaking point. But he had to do something! He had to! Harry didn't deserve to die! He had too much left to do! Abraxas had _planned _to do so many things with Harry...so much...

Tom rapped his fingers loudly on his thigh. "But what, nephew?" he questioned.

"Can't you do anything about it? Can't you, Uncle?" Abraxas was getting desperate. He knew his Uncle could come up with numerous ways to prolong a mortal's life. He was the god of death, for Zeus's sake!

Tom turned away from him, arms crossing.

"I'd have to take him to the Underworld with me," he muttered.

"And that would make him live?" asked Abraxas, in all seriousness.

"It would," confirmed the god. "But it wouldn't make him happy. He would never be allowed above world. He would never see another living thing. He would never again be able to use his gift with plants and other living things. He would only ever see and experience death down there. And they're not very memorable experiences; I can tell you that first hand."

"...Just do it," said Abraxas, head bent to shadow his weary face.

"Are you certain?" Tom's eyes found his and searched for something. When he couldn't find what he was looking for, Tom's stare deepened. "You may never see him again, you know this."

Abraxas wanted to do nothing but weep.

"I am fully aware of it, Uncle, but what I want isn't what matters anymore. The only important thing is that he does not die. I...do not want him to die," said Abraxas softly, closing his eyes and stifling the sorrow in his heart. "He deserves much more. I know he's special, Uncle. In more ways than one."

With a nod, Tom's gaze slid away from his and the god said, "I'll give you two weeks with him—nothing more. Clotho informed me that he only has less than a month. Say your goodbyes, nephew. And be with him while you still can." _For he will be all mine, after this ends _was what he failed to say, though Abraxas could see his implications.

"Love him for these two weeks, nephew. It's the only thing you can do."

Sending a sympathetic look to him, the god of the Underworld then blinked out of existence.

Abraxas's shoulders trembled, and he tried to fight it—he tried to but he couldn't stop the tears from his eyes and the howling of anguish coming from his mouth. He even tasted the salty liquid pouring from his eyes.

For the first time since he had been birthed, Abraxas wept and mourned the love that he would never be able to keep.

A love that he realised much too late.

* * *

"Harry?"

"Abraxas?" whispered the sick mortal, green eyes cracking open at the mention of his name. Red-tinged green eyes met his and a slender hand rose to reach his face. The god felt much-too-warm fingertips grazing his cheeks before dropping down. "Why are you here?" Harry asked, wearily. "Mother said that no one was to visit me until I was well again."

"Your mother can say whatever she wants to say and it still wouldn't chase me off," spoke Abraxas heatedly. He captured lily-white hands into his and clasped them tight. "I wanted to see you." _Say goodbye and watch as your life fades before my very eyes_.

Abraxas blinked away the tears as a strange quiet enveloped them.

"...You all right?" came Harry's worried voice. "You're much too quiet, Abraxas. If me being sick upsets you—then what about me being injured. Will that make you cry?" joked the sick boy but sobered quickly at Abraxas's serious expression. "I'm sorry," he added. "But I'm just sick. Nothing's wrong with me except—well, the sick part."

As tempting as it was to tell Harry that he wasn't _just _sick, but dying as well, the god squashed the temptation down with an impressive slug.

"She's confined you to two weeks of bed rest," he muttered. "The healer's done all he can and he can't do anything else. So she figured that you just needed more sleep in order to get over this illness of yours. "

"She can't do that!" Harry looked outraged. "I'm just sensitive to the season, all right? I'll get better in a few days! You'll see!"

And Abraxas couldn't do anything but nod.

* * *

Four days went by and Harry's condition still hadn't improved. In fact, by the end of the first day, the mortal had gotten worse. He had started coughing blood and seeing delusions. Eventually, he couldn't tell Lily apart from the wall, and was already babbling about wizardry and talking snakes. Even hissing whenever Abraxas or Lily visited him at the sick bay of the Potter household.

Lily was openly crying in the courtyard with Ron and Hermione by her side. The bushy-haired servant seemed depressed and dark bags lined her eyes. Even Ron seemed withdrawn, only speaking a few words with Abraxas. And they were only about Harry's condition. The redhead had immediately clammed up when he heard about Harry's delusional behaviour.

"He called me a filthy mudblood liar," sobbed the beautiful redheaded woman. She was crying on Hermione's shoulder while the small, petite girl patted her back. "I don't even know what a mudblood is but he called me one and spat at me and tried to scratch me!"

"It's all right," shushed Hermione in her soft, sweet way. "He's just sick right now, Lily. He'll get better soon."

But they all knew that was a lie.

* * *

A week went by, and Harry's fever went down. But he stilled coughed up blood and his once verdant green eyes were now a milky, faded out mint. He was blind, and there was nothing anyone could do for him. The fever had left him muddled, blind but alive.

Abraxas was grateful, though he knew Harry probably wasn't. He wasn't even in the right mind.

But throughout the whole week, he had loyally stayed by Harry's side, even when the boy threw random fits. He clawed at the air, spoke in hissing tones, even cried out to unseen beings surrounding him.

Everyone thought he was possessed.

Abraxas knew better.

So he lingered by Harry and took to caring for the ill boy. Bringing him to the baths, preparing his meals for him—everything. Abraxas wanted Harry comfortable and loved. He was surprised by Lily's behaviour though. Harry wasn't even dead yet and she was already crying at random intervals during supper.

A day later, word came from the capital. It was announced by a tearful Lily that James would be arriving in the next few days. They all knew very well that this was a serious matter. James would never forgo his work just to see his family. As kind as the man was, he was ambitious and driven with his job.

It made Abraxas sad that by the time Harry's father would get here, the boy would already be in the Underworld.

* * *

He felt a little piece of his heart die as he surveyed the sickly boy on his bed.

" 'braxas?" mumbled Harry in one of his rare moments of lucidity. They were sporadic and occurred only once every day at the most. In fact, Harry behaving normally was becoming rarer and rarer.

Abraxas felt his jaw ache from the amount of times he clenched it as he watched his beloved fade in front of his very eyes.

Blind, mint eyes quietly regarded him from his place. They stared back at him searchingly, beseechingly—as if they could really see him.

Finally, with a long, drawn out sigh, Abraxas answered, "...Yes?" He reached over to cup a pale cheek and gaze adoringly at Harry. Eerie in the way those pale eyes seemed to perceive him; Abraxas had the distinct feeling that the boy was going to tell him something important.

"Was there something you needed?" he added and observed as a small smile bloomed onto Harry's pink lips.

"I'm going to die aren't I?" the mortal asked softly, if somewhat fearfully. His eyes closed as he clutched at Abraxas's hand. The way Harry clung to his hand was the way that Abraxas imagined him clinging to life.

Harry wasn't strong enough.

Sighing, Abraxas gently pulled his hand away to rest onto Harry's thin arm. He rubbed the boy's soft limb and said calmly, "Yes. You are."

Harry's shoulders tensed.

"I can't say I'm sorry that I'm dying, you know," the boy admitted in a quavering voice. "I knew it would happen someday. I just didn't expect it to be so soon."

"It's not your fault," said Abraxas carefully. He grasped Harry's delicate hand and twined it with his own. "It's not your fault that you were born sickly. It's no one's fault," he furthered and felt Harry weakly squeeze his palm. He squeezed back.

"Can I tell you something, Abraxas? Because I think I'm not going to wake up after I go to sleep tonight," said Harry, sending one of his sweet smiles that Abraxas had learned to take granted for. Abraxas cherished this one though and kept this memory locked tightly up in his head.

"What is it-?"

"I love you."

Shock settled onto his features and Abraxas gasped, his voice echoing around the barren walls of the sick bay.

"I—I—" _don't know what to say—_

"I loved you since the first day I met you, in the gardens," said Harry, seemingly ignoring the state he put Abraxas in. "It wasn't because of how you looked—so lost, so different. You have this light about you, you know. This really nice glow that drew me to you like a moth to a flame."

With that statement hanging in the air, Abraxas was going to say something until a thin hand lifted and stopped him. "It's okay, I already had a feeling that you were different from Tom. I liked him a lot at first, you know. Then I found out that he lied to me not once, but twice. Once when he was a snake and the second, when he said he'd come back for me in a year and he didn't. I don't fancy liars," explained Harry with a sweet, almost bitter look. "You know the sad thing about this whole ordeal was that I was willing to settle for him. All because mother told me that it was better to have someone who loved you than to have no one love you at all."

"But he doesn't love you!" Abraxas blurted out, but then slammed his mouth shut when Harry laughed.

"I know, he just wanted me. He still does," said Harry serenely. "But then you came along and, and—"

"And?" said Abraxas, leaning forward so he was closer, merely a breath away from Harry.

"You made me see the colors of the world."

Abraxas couldn't say anything to that.

"You—you were warm. You listened to me—you were just there and so lost and I couldn't help myself but I found myself liking you more and more, and then—" Harry coughed in his hands and Abraxas saw blood, but the boy continued talking in a raspy voice, "I couldn't get enough of you. I prayed to Athena for wisdom and she came to me and told me that I had to keep on trying, even though you hadn't seemed at all receptive to my actions."

"I was! I am!" the god cried out, jumping up from his seat. He embraced Harry and held him tightly, as if he was afraid that the mortal would disappear from his very grasp. "Don't leave me, Harry. Please don't. I love you, I love you, I love you," he sobbed and cradled the frail, sickly boy in his arms. His lips lightly brushed soft, trembling pink ones, in a chaste kiss, before pressing his mouth firmly onto Harry's.

The feeling of Harry's lips on his was exquisite, Abraxas thought, then groaned, as his tongue delved in between that teasing crevice. This was too good—_too fast_, and Abraxas felt that he was melting with all this emotions running through him. The haze that came from just one touch of Harry's delicate hands was enough to undo him and—

Aforementioned devious hands had instinctively grasped the back of his shirt as Abraxas leaned forward in order to kiss him deeper, running appreciative fingers under the boy's shirt. His fingers lightly ghosted down a somewhat prominent spine and he felt Harry shivering underneath his touch. The mortal was so receptive. The god rather liked it.

Abraxas couldn't help smiling as Harry tentatively parted his lips to Abraxas's questing tongue, allowing the god entry into his mouth. He heard the boy moan as he gently tugged at Harry's hair and slid his tongue in at the same time. That was a move he was sure to use on Harry.

If Tom would ever let Abraxas see him again, that is. He shoved that depressing thought away from the forefront of his mind and focused on Harry's lovely mouth again. Harry seemed to be getting the hang of kissing if the way the boy's lips moved against his own was any indication.

Hazel eyes nearly rolled when Harry shyly rubbed his tongue against the roof of Abraxas's mouth. '_The minx!'_ He thought heatedly before plundering Harry's mouth in retribution. The mortal struggled a bit, then relaxed as Abraxas petted his lower back. Harry pouted against him and lightly bit at Abraxas's lower lip, but nothing could deter the god from ravaging Harry's mouth once more.

Ambrosia, honey—_everything good_. Abraxas would never tire of this unique flavour! Though there was a tiny metallic hint to Harry's breath, Abraxas continued to delve deeper into the boy's moist orifice, eager—_happy _that he had Harry, even for a moment like this.

No one could take this away.

Suddenly, much to his displeasure, Harry's eyes closed and the mortal drew away from the kiss, a small, content smile playing at his thoroughly ravaged mouth. Mint green eyes then opened once again, and Harry sent him a dazzled look.

"Abraxas," the boy sighed, and snuggled into his arms. "That was my first kiss. I'll always remember it. Thank you."

He wanted to grant the mortal more kisses, but belatedly realised that Harry seemed to have used up all his energy with that rather heated first kiss. So he controlled his raging emotions and caressed Harry's cheek.

As he was gently rocking Harry to sleep, somewhere in the Underworld, Tom watched the scene with narrowed red eyes.

Seething, the god punched the ice mirror hanging in front of him.

It shattered on impact, like the broken pieces of his heart.

* * *

Harry was right.

As soon as he slept that night, he never woke again.

Tom, as was the deal, came by after two weeks and swept the boy off into the Underworld, glowering at his nephew the whole time.

But Abraxas wasn't aware of anything after he and Harry shared their first and last kiss. He was still, four days later, dazedly touching his lips, as if trying to remember that beautiful memory. He did not eat much, though he did bathe and look out the window from the guest room, lost in his own world.

He couldn't bear the depressive silence or the lost eyes of Lily and James Potter.

So the god disappeared from the Potter home a week later.

* * *

"He just stays there, all day moping, Father," said Gellert worriedly, looking at the depressed god in his quarters. "He does nothing the whole day. Only drinks ambrosia from that mug he brought from the mortal world. Should we do something?"

Hypnos, Nicholas Flamel, sighed.

"That batty Oracle said something like this would happen. There's nothing we can do, Gellert. You and your twin had done everything possible. We just have to let nature run its course."

"But it hurts me seeing him like this," murmured Albus from his side of the lavishly decorated room. They were talking in hushed tones in Abraxas's drawing rooms, seated on plush, scarlet cushions. The usually playful god had his knees sombrely up to his chest, and he lay his head on top his knees. Gellert was right next to him, combing fingers through his twin's red hair in an effort to comfort him.

The golden-redheaded god pressed a quick kiss to his twin's forehead and said, "He'll pull through, you'll see. Abraxas is pretty resilient when he wants to be."

"I know," said Albus glumly. He turned pleading blue eyes towards his Father. "Can't you do anything to speed up the process? Uncle Hades may take forever in having a change of mind, so what'll happen to Abraxas 'til then?"

The old wizened man rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I don't know," he replied, "But I have a feeling Tom will realise that Harry isn't for him. His love fortune given to him by the Oracle won't come true for many a year, though your Great-Uncle Slytherin bets that it'll be in about fifteen years or less."

"And it'll take that long for him to grow weary of Harry?" said Gellert slowly, almost disbelievingly. He had a dubious expression on, as if he couldn't believe it.

"No, it'll be sooner than you think," said Nicholas, though he didn't sound quite convinced himself.

...Though honestly, that day came sooner that anyone ever thought.

It took only a month for Hades to summon Abraxas.

* * *

It was cold.

Abraxas kneeled before Tom, his forehead pressed to the black marble.

"You must be wondering why I sent for you here today, nephew."

Abraxas remained silent and unmoving.

Then, as if sensing that Tom was waiting for his answer, Abraxas dutifully said,

"I beg your pardon, Uncle. Why have you called me here today?"

Though this was all in a blank monotone that put Tom on edge.

"I _called _you here, you ungrateful wretch, to give him back to you. You're lucky you're my favourite nephew," spat Tom, from his throne in the middle of the large, barely illuminated ceremonial chambers of the Underworld. The tall, handsome god placed his chin in his hands as he gazed downwards at one of his favourite relatives. The only one, in fact. Barring his sick and twisted love for his elder brother, Zeus.

From this view, Tom could see that Abraxas had his shoulders slumped. And for a god, he looked absolutely worse for wear—with his flaxen hair limp, framing his pale, almost translucent features. The usual godly halo that encased all gods was dim and flickering behind his form and Tom felt a bit of pity for his fellow kindred.

For a split second, Abraxas's eyes turned completely black, and then, in the next instance, the youthful god stood up and directed a venomous look at Tom.

"Why, Uncle?" Abraxas asked, obviously angry. Tom could literally see the steam coming out from his ears. "Why do you say that now when he is basically one of the dead? When I can no longer look upon him and feel his warmth within my arms? When his beautiful eyes will no longer hold any love or heat for the world which he is missing? Why now?" Trembling, Abraxas crossed his arms, and sought for that presence lingering in his mind—his Hadrian. His Harry.

Tom sighed. "Must you be so theatrical?" the older god declared, and disappeared in an ominous black cloud to only reappear besides Abraxas. "Look," said Tom, and showed the golden string that Abraxas recognised as Hadrian's. It was longer, and thinner than before—more—_golden?_

Abraxas gaped, then looked at Tom incomprehensively.

"But—you know his condition—you _took _him away—but...I don't understand!" gaped Abraxas, overwhelmed.

Tom sighed once more, then motioned for Clotho to come by. The spinner of fate scowled, but slowly walked over to them, her ashen face twisted into a look of annoyance. "What do you want, Hades?" rasped the woman, as she approached the two. "Wasn't it enough that you asked me to spin another thread of life for that insignificant mortal, Hadrian? Make it a little godlier than before, even? No one in this entire world has ever gotten a second chance at life except for this one," grumbled the Moerae, sourly. "Lachesis and Atropos were very displeased at first, Hades. Much displeased. Until we remembered how you were the only Olympian good to us."

Tom's eyebrow twitched. "Woman," he intoned to the bent hag, "I go by Tom now, not Hades. How many times must I tell you that?"

Clotho only rolled her eyes. "Of course, Tom. I seemed to have forgotten," said the Moerae sarcastically. "And why is Morpheus here?" she eyed Abraxas critically, then snorted at his confounded look. "Yes, I know your true name, must you be so surprised? I take it that you're the one who made Hades here grow a conscience. For that, you have the Fates' gratitude." She reached one gnarled hand over to smooth the flaxen locks on Abraxas's head.

"Take good care of the child," she whispered to him gently. "I couldn't give him back his old life, but I gave him what I could—a new one. In time, perhaps, he'll love you the way you loved him his first lifetime—but that would take ages. Perhaps even an entire lifetime."

"But many lifetimes I have," murmured Abraxas, carefully grasping the frail hand in his and pressing fleeting kisses over the knuckles. "I thank you from the bottom of my heart for giving me this second chance," Abraxas said, and meant it.

The Fate seemed to glow and blush.

"Oh, I do like him, Hades, I really do," twittered the Moerae before stepping back next to Tom.

The god of the Underworld only snorted. "You can like him all you want, but he's taken," sniffed Tom. The Moerae looked like she wanted to snarl at the dark god, but thought better of it and instead, snapped her fingers. An ivory cradle appeared next to Tom, and gently, with much reverence, Tom bent down to receive the precious bundle.

Tom then held it out to Abraxas.

"He's yours, Abraxas," said Tom, as the golden haired god took the baby into his arms. "He was never happy with me, even when I gave him everything by my side. He only ever had eyes for you, really. Lucky bugger," growled Tom, and thumped his nephew on the head. "Take good care of him, as Clotho says—as my withered heart says also. He was reborn into this babe because his old body couldn't take in his new life. That was why I commissioned Clotho to create a new string, somewhat impossible for a Moerae, but not impossible for her."

Abraxas could only nod.

"Thank you, Uncle," he then glanced at Clotho, "And thank you, Clotho," hesaid, suddenly choking on his sorrow—happiness—_joy._ Tears were in his eyes as he stared down at his beloved's young, baby face. There was a lightning shaped scar on his forehead, which meant that he had been given a second shot at life as a god. Abraxas wasn't sure how to take care of Hadrian this way, but he would give it his all, just to see the familiar figure of Hadrian in his midst. No matter how long it took. He'd make Harry remember that first kiss by making a new memory of it.

Staring back up at his Uncle, he gave the god a watery smile.

"I will take very good care of him in Olympus, Uncle. With all my heart and soul."

"See that you do."

With that, Tom raised a hand to his lips and directed it towards them—blowing, blowing, blowing—until both Abraxas and Hadrian were gone from his sight.

"He is a nice boy, like his father," said Clotho moments later, staring at the spot where Abraxas was at only a few seconds before.

"I know," said Tom, pursing his lips. "But now, as it always was, and was in the beginning, I'll be alone. Forever cloaked in the darkness of the underworld. Always and for the rest of eternity."

Clotho scoffed at his poesy. "No you won't," she muttered and turned away as soon as Tom gave her an inquisitive look. "Nothing, nothing," she said innocently, but in a lower voice said, "You just wait for him in a field of flowers, just you wait. It'll take another few years, but Penelope, Severus, will be there someday, Tom. Mark my words."

As the Moerae scuttled back to her chambers, Tom let a smile curl at his lips.

He had heard every word.

* * *

**A/N**: -sniggers- I made Severus into Penelope. Why? Because the challenge written by my reviewer, **NightFairy79**was to make an AbraxasHarry or CygnusHarry fic...Hope you enjoyed it as much as I did. I've never seen this pairing around FFnet so...yeah. xD

THIS IS WHAT YOU GET IF YOU LET ME WATCH CLASH OF TITANS ALL DAY. XDD

Ahem. I had to write this around a full-schedule of doing cosmetology work lol.

Thank you to all those who reviewed! ;] I'm working on the next challenge which is a TomHarry fic, but other challenges would be accomodated! I know you probably thought this was a bore (I didn't, cos the setting made it interesting), but thanks for reading this! ;]

REVIEW PLEASE! XD


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